DEAD MEN'S MONEY

 BY J. S. FLETCHER

 1920

CONTENTS

 I THE ONE-EYED MAN

 II THE MIDNIGHT MISSION

 III THE RED STAIN

 IV THE MURDERED MAN

 V THE BRASS-BOUND CHEST

 VI MR. JOHN PHILLIPS

 VII THE INQUEST ON JOHN PHILLIPS

 VIII THE PARISH REGISTERS

 IX THE MARINE-STORE DEALER

 X THE OTHER WITNESS

 XI SIGNATURES TO THE WILL

 XII THE SALMON GAFF

 XIII SIR GILBERT CARSTAIRS

 XIV DEAD MAN'S MONEY

 XV FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR

 XVI THE MAN IN THE CELL

 XVII THE IRISH HOUSEKEEPER

 XVIII THE ICE AX

 XIX MY TURN

 XX THE SAMARITAN SKIPPER

 XXI MR. GAVIN SMEATON

 XXII I READ MY OWN OBITUARY

 XXIII FAMILY HISTORY

 XXIV THE SUIT OF CLOTHES

 XXV THE SECOND DISAPPEARANCE

 XXVI MRS. RALSTON OF CRAIG

 XXVII THE BANK BALANCE

 XXVIII THE HATHERCLEUGH BUTLER

 XXIX ALL IN ORDER

 XXX THE CARSTAIRS MOTTO

 XXXI NO TRACE

 XXXII THE LINK

 XXXIII THE OLD TOWER

 XXXIV THE BARGAIN

 XXXV THE SWAG

 XXXVI GOLD

 XXXVII THE DARK POOL

CHAPTER I

THE ONE-EYED MAN

The very beginning of this affair, which involved me, before I was awareof it, in as much villainy and wickedness as ever man heard of, was, ofcourse, that spring evening, now ten years ago, whereon I looked out ofmy mother's front parlour window in the main street of Berwick-upon-Tweedand saw, standing right before the house, a man who had a black patchover his left eye, an old plaid thrown loosely round his shoulders, andin his right hand a stout stick and an old-fashioned carpet-bag. Hecaught sight of me as I caught sight of him, and he stirred, and made atonce for our door. If I had possessed the power of seeing more than theobvious, I should have seen robbery, and murder, and the very devilhimself coming in close attendance upon him as he crossed the pavement. But as it was, I saw nothing but a stranger, and I threw open the windowand asked the man what he might be wanting. 

"Lodgings!" he answered, jerking a thickly made thumb at a paper which mymother had that day set in the transom above the door. "Lodgings! You'velodgings to let for a single gentleman. I'm a single gentleman, and Iwant lodgings. For a month--maybe more. Money no object. Thoroughrespectability--on my part. Few needs and modest requirements. Not likelyto give trouble. Open the door!"

I went into the passage and opened the door to him. He strode in withoutas much as a word, and, not waiting for my invitation, lurchedheavily--he was a big, heavy-moving fellow--into the parlour, where heset down his bag, his plaid, and his stick, and dropping into an easychair, gave a sort of groan as he looked at me. 

"And what's your name?" he demanded, as if he had all the right in theworld to walk into folks' houses and ask his questions. "Whatever it is, you're a likely-looking youngster!"

"My name's Hugh Moneylaws, " I answered, thinking it no harm to humourhim. "If you want to know about lodgings you must wait till my mothercomes in. Just now she's away up the street--she'll be back presently. "

"No hurry, my lad, " he replied. "None whatever. This is a comfortableanchorage. Quiet. Your mother'll be a widow woman, now?"

"Yes, " said I shortly. 

"Any more of you--brothers and sisters?" he asked. "Any--aye, ofcourse!--any young children in the house? Because young children is whatI cannot abide--except at a distance. "

"There's nobody but me and my mother, and a servant lass, " I said. "Thisis a quiet enough house, if that's what you mean. "

"Quiet is the word, " said he. "Nice, quiet, respectable lodgings. Inthis town of Berwick. For a month. If not more. As I say, a comfortableanchorage. And time, too!--when you've seen as many queer places as Ihave in my day, young fellow, you'll know that peace and quiet is meatand drink to an ageing man. "

It struck me as I looked at him that he was just the sort of man that youwould expect to hear of as having been in queer places--a sort of gnarledand stubbly man, with a wealth of seams and wrinkles about his face andwhat could be seen of his neck, and much grizzled hair, and an eye--onlyone being visible--that looked as if it had been on the watch ever sincehe was born. He was a fellow of evident great strength and stout muscle, and his hands, which he had clasped in front of him as he sat talking tome, were big enough to go round another man's throat, or to fell abullock. And as for the rest of his appearance, he had gold rings in hisears, and he wore a great, heavy gold chain across his waistcoat, and wasdressed in a new suit of blue serge, somewhat large for him, that he hadevidently purchased at a ready-made-clothing shop, not so long before. 

My mother came quietly in upon us before I could reply to the stranger'slast remark, and I saw at once that he was a man of some politeness andmanners, for he got himself up out of his chair and made her a sort ofbow, in an old-fashioned way. And without waiting for me, he let histongue loose on her. 

"Servant, ma'am, " said he. "You'll be the lady of the house--Mrs. Moneylaws. I'm seeking lodgings, Mrs. Moneylaws, and seeing your paperat the door-light, and your son's face at the window, I came in. Nice, quiet lodgings for a few weeks is what I'm wanting--a bit of plaincooking--no fal-lals. And as for money--no object! Charge me what youlike, and I'll pay beforehand, any hand, whatever's convenient. "

My mother, a shrewd little woman, who had had a good deal to do since myfather died, smiled at the corners of her mouth as she looked thewould-be lodger up and down. 

"Why, sir, " said she. "I like to know who I'm taking in. You're astranger in the place, I'm thinking. "

"Fifty years since I last clapped eyes on it, ma'am, " he answered. "And Iwas then a youngster of no more than twelve years or so. But as to whoand what I am--name of James Gilverthwaite. Late master of as good a shipas ever a man sailed. A quiet, respectable man. No swearer. Nodrinker--saving in reason and sobriety. And as I say--money no object, and cash down whenever it's wanted. Look here!"

He plunged one of the big hands into a trousers' pocket, and pulled itout again running over with gold. And opening his fingers he extendedthe gold-laden palm towards us. We were poor folk at that time, and itwas a strange sight to us, all that money lying in the man's hand, andhe apparently thinking no more of it than if it had been a heap ofsix-penny pieces. 

"Help yourself to whatever'll pay you for a month, " he exclaimed. "Anddon't be afraid--there's a lot more where that came from. "

But my mother laughed, and motioned him to put up his money. 

"Nay, nay, sir!" said she. "There's no need. And all I'm asking at you isjust to know who it is I'm taking in. You'll be having business in thetown for a while?"

"Not business in the ordinary sense, ma'am, " he answered. "But there'skin of mine lying in more than one graveyard just by, and it's a fancy ofmy own to take a look at their resting-places, d'ye see, and to wanderround the old quarters where they lived. And while I'm doing that, it's aquiet, and respectable, and a comfortable lodging I'm wanting. "

I could see that the sentiment in his speech touched my mother, who wasfond of visiting graveyards herself, and she turned to Mr. JamesGilverthwaite with a nod of acquiescence. 

"Well, now, what might you be wanting in the way of accommodation?" sheasked, and she began to tell him that he could have that parlour in whichthey were talking, and the bedchamber immediately above it. I left themarranging their affairs, and went into another room to attend to some ofmy own, and after a while my mother came there to me. "I've let him therooms, Hugh, " she said, with a note of satisfaction in her voice whichtold me that the big man was going to pay well for them. "He's a greatbear of a man to look at, " she went on, "but he seems quiet andcivil-spoken. And here's a ticket for a chest of his that he's left up atthe railway station, and as he's tired, maybe you'll get somebodyyourself to fetch it down for him?"

I went out to a man who lived close by and had a light cart, and sent himup to the station with the ticket for the chest; he was back with itbefore long, and I had to help him carry it up to Mr. Gilverthwaite'sroom. And never had I felt or seen a chest like that before, nor had theman who had fetched it, either. It was made of some very hard and darkwood, and clamped at all the corners with brass, and underneath it therewere a couple of bars of iron, and though it was no more than two and ahalf feet square, it took us all our time to lift it. And when, under Mr. Gilverthwaite's orders, we set it down on a stout stand at the side ofhis bed, there it remained until--but to say until when would beanticipating. 

Now that he was established in our house, the new lodger proved himselfall that he had said. He was a quiet, respectable, sober sort of man, giving no trouble and paying down his money without question or murmurevery Saturday morning at his breakfast-time. All his days were passed inpretty much the same fashion. After breakfast he would go out--you mightsee him on the pier, or on the old town walls, or taking a walk acrossthe Border Bridge; now and then we heard of his longer excursions intothe country, one side or other of the Tweed. He took his dinner in theevenings, having made a special arrangement with my mother to thateffect, and a very hearty eater he was, and fond of good things, whichhe provided generously for himself; and when that episode of the day'sevents was over, he would spend an hour or two over the newspapers, ofwhich he was a great reader, in company with his cigar and his glass. AndI'll say for him that from first to last he never put anything out, andwas always civil and polite, and there was never a Saturday that he didnot give the servant-maid a half-crown to buy herself a present. 

All the same--we said it to ourselves afterwards, though not at thetime--there was an atmosphere of mystery about Mr. Gilverthwaite. He madeno acquaintance in the town. He was never seen in even brief conversationwith any of the men that hung about the pier, on the walls, or by theshipping. He never visited the inns, nor brought anybody in to drink andsmoke with him. And until the last days of his lodging with us he neverreceived a letter. 

A letter and the end of things came all at once. His stay had lengthenedbeyond the month he had first spoken of. It was in the seventh week ofhis coming that he came home to his dinner one June evening, complainingto my mother of having got a great wetting in a sudden storm that hadcome on that afternoon while he was away out in the country, and nextmorning he was in bed with a bad pain in his chest, and not over wellable to talk. My mother kept him in his bed and began to doctor him; thatday, about noon, came for him the first and only letter he ever had whilehe was with us--a letter that came in a registered envelope. Theservant-maid took it up to him when it was delivered, and she said laterthat he started a bit when he saw it. But he said nothing about it to mymother during that afternoon, nor indeed to me, specifically, when, lateron, he sent for me to go up to his room. All the same, having heard ofwhat he had got, I felt sure that it was because of it that, when I wentin to him, he beckoned me first to close the door on us and then to comeclose to his side as he lay propped on his pillow. 

"Private, my lad!" he whispered hoarsely. "There's a word I have for youin private!"

CHAPTER II

THE MIDNIGHT MISSION

Before he said a word more, I knew that Mr. Gilverthwaite was veryill--much worse, I fancied, than my mother had any notion of. It wasevidently hard work for him to get his breath, and the veins in histemples and forehead swelled out, big and black, with the effort oftalking. He motioned to me to hand him a bottle of some stuff which hehad sent for from the chemist, and he took a swig of its contents fromthe bottle neck before he spoke again. Then he pointed to a chair at thebed-head, close to his pillow. 

"My lungs!" he said, a bit more easily. "Mortal bad! Queer thing, a greatman like me, but I was always delicate in that way, ever since I was anipper--strong as a bull in all else. But this word is private. Lookhere, you're a lawyer's clerk?"

He had known that, of course, for some time--known that I was clerk to asolicitor of the town, and hoping to get my articles, and in due coursebecome a solicitor myself. So there was no need for me to do more thannod in silence. 

"And being so, " he went on, "you'll be a good hand at keeping a secretvery well. Can you keep one for me, now?"

He had put out one of his big hands as he spoke, and had gripped mywrist with it--ill as he was, the grip of his fingers was like steel, andyet I could see that he had no idea that he was doing more than layinghis hand on me with the appeal of a sick man. 

"It depends what it is, Mr. Gilverthwaite, " I answered. "I should like todo anything I can for you. "

"You wouldn't do it for nothing, " he put in sharply. "I'll make it wellworth your while. See here!"

He took his hand away from my wrist, put it under his pillow, and drewout a bank-note, which he unfolded before me. 

"Ten pound!" he said. "It's yours, if you'll do a bit of a job for me--inprivate. Ten pound'll be useful to you. What do you say, now?"

"That it depends on what it is, " said I. "I'd be as glad of ten pounds asanybody, but I must know first what I'm expected to do for it. "

"It's an easy enough thing to do, " he replied. "Only it's got to be donethis very night, and I'm laid here, and can't do it. You can do it, without danger, and at little trouble--only--it must be done private. "

"You want me to do something that nobody's to know about?" I asked. 

"Precisely!" said he. "Nobody! Not even your mother--for even the best ofwomen have tongues. "

I hesitated a little--something warned me that there was more in all thisthan I saw or understood at the moment. 

"I'll promise this, Mr. Gilverthwaite, " I said presently. "If you'lltell me now what it is you want, I'll keep that a dead secret fromanybody for ever. Whether I'll do it or not'll depend on the nature ofyour communication. "

"Well spoken, lad!" he answered, with a feeble laugh. "You've the makingsof a good lawyer, anyway. Well, now, it's this--do you know thisneighbourhood well?"

"I've never known any other, " said I. 

"Do you know where Till meets Tweed?" he asked. 

"As well as I know my own mother's door!" I answered. 

"You know where that old--what do they call it?--chapel, cell, somethingof that nature, is?" he asked again. 

"Aye!--well enough, Mr. Gilverthwaite, " I answered him. "Ever since I wasin breeches!"

"Well, " said he, "if I was my own man, I ought to meet another man nearthere this very night. And--here I am!"

"You want me to meet this other man?" I asked. 

"I'm offering you ten pound if you will, " he answered, with a quick look. "Aye, that is what I'm wanting!"

"To do--what?" I inquired. 

"Simple enough, " he said. "Nothing to do but to meet him, to give him aword that'll establish what they term your bony fides, and a message fromme that I'll have you learn by heart before you go. No more!"

"There's no danger in it?" I asked. 

"Not a spice of danger!" he asserted. "Not half as much as you'd find inserving a writ. "

"You seem inclined to pay very handsomely for it, all the same, " Iremarked, still feeling a bit suspicious. 

"And for a simple reason, " he retorted. "I must have some one to dothe job--aye, if it costs twenty pound! Somebody must meet thisfriend o' mine, and tonight--and why shouldn't you have ten pound aswell as another?"

"There's nothing to do but what you say?" I asked. 

"Nothing--not a thing!" he affirmed. 

"And the time?" I said. "And the word--for surety?"

"Eleven o'clock is the time, " he answered. "Eleven--an hour beforemidnight. And as for the word--get you to the place and wait about a bit, and if you see nobody there, say out loud, 'From James Gilverthwaite asis sick and can't come himself'; and when the man appears, as he will, say--aye!--say 'Panama, ' my lad, and he'll understand in a jiffy!"

"Eleven o'clock--Panama, " said I. "And--the message?"

"Aye!" he answered, "the message. Just this, then: 'James Gilverthwaiteis laid by for a day or two, and you'll bide quiet in the place you knowof till you hear from him. ' That's all. And--how will you get out there, now?--it's a goodish way. "

"I have a bicycle, " I answered, and at his question a thought struck me. "How did you intend to get out there yourself, Mr. Gilverthwaite?" Iasked. "That far--and at that time of night?"

"Aye!" he said. "Just so--but I'd ha' done it easy enough, my lad--if Ihadn't been laid here. I'd ha' gone out by the last train to the nigheststation, and it being summer I'd ha' shifted for myself somehow duringthe rest of the night--I'm used to night work. But--that's neither herenor there. You'll go? And--private?"

"I'll go--and privately, " I answered him. "Make yourself easy. "

"And not a word to your mother?" he asked anxiously. 

"Just so, " I replied. "Leave it to me. "

He looked vastly relieved at that, and after assuring him that I had themessage by heart I left his chamber and went downstairs. After all, itwas no great task that he had put on me. I had often stayed until verylate at the office, where I had the privilege of reading law-books atnights, and it was an easy business to mention to my mother that Iwouldn't be in that night so very early. That part of my contract withthe sick man upstairs I could keep well enough, in letter and spirit--allthe same, I was not going out along Tweed-side at that hour of the nightwithout some safeguard, and though I would tell no one of what mybusiness for Mr. Gilverthwaite precisely amounted to, I would tell oneperson where it would take me, in case anything untoward happened and Ihad to be looked for. That person was the proper one for a lad to go tounder the circumstances--my sweetheart, Maisie Dunlop. 

And here I'll take you into confidence and say that at that time Maisieand I had been sweethearting a good two years, and were as certain ofeach other as if the two had been twelve. I doubt if there was suchanother old-fashioned couple as we were anywhere else in the BritishIslands, for already we were as much bound up in each other as if we hadbeen married half a lifetime, and there was not an affair of mine that Idid not tell her of, nor had she a secret that she did not share with me. But then, to be sure, we had been neighbours all our lives, for herfather, Andrew Dunlop, kept a grocer's shop not fifty yards from ourhouse, and she and I had been playmates ever since our school-days, andhad fallen to sober and serious love as soon as we arrived at what we atany rate called years of discretion--which means that I was nineteen, andshe seventeen, when we first spoke definitely about getting married. Andtwo years had gone by since then, and one reason why I had no objectionto earning Mr. Gilverthwaite's ten pounds was that Maisie and I meant towed as soon as my salary was lifted to three pounds a week, as it soonwas to be, and we were saving money for our furnishing--and ten pounds, of course, would be a nice help. 

So presently I went along the street to Dunlop's and called Maisie out, and we went down to the walls by the river mouth, which was a regularevening performance of ours. And in a quiet corner, where there was aseat on which we often sat whispering together of our future, I toldher that I had to do a piece of business for our lodger that night andthat the precise nature of it was a secret which I must not let outeven to her. 

"But here's this much in it, Maisie, " I went on, taking care that therewas no one near us that could catch a word of what I was saying; "I cantell you where the spot is that I'm to do the business at, for a finelonely spot it is to be in at the time of night I'm to be there--an hourbefore midnight, and the place is that old ruin that's close by whereTill meets Tweed--you know it well enough yourself. "

I felt her shiver a bit at that, and I knew what it was that was in hermind, for Maisie was a girl of imagination, and the mention of a lonelyplace like that, to be visited at such an hour, set it working. 

"Yon's a queer man, that lodger of your mother's, Hughie, " she said. "Andit's a strange time and place you're talking of. I hope nothing'll cometo you in the way of mischance. "

"Oh, it's nothing, nothing at all!" I hastened to say. "If you knew itall, you'd see it's a very ordinary business that this man can't dohimself, being kept to his bed. But all the same, there's naught liketaking precautions beforehand, and so I'll tell you what we'll do. Ishould be back in town soon after twelve, and I'll give a tap at yourwindow as I pass it, and then you'll know all's right. "

That would be an easy enough thing to manage, for Maisie's room, whereshe slept with a younger sister, was on the ground floor of her father'shouse in a wing that butted on to the street, and I could knock at thepane as I passed by. Yet still she seemed uneasy, and I hastened to saywhat--not even then knowing her quite as well as I did later--I thoughtwould comfort her in any fears she had. "It's a very easy job, Maisie, " Isaid; "and the ten pounds'll go a long way in buying that furniture we'realways talking about. "

She started worse than before when I said that and gripped the hand thatI had round her waist. 

"Hughie!" she exclaimed. "He'll not be giving you ten pounds for a bit ofa ride like that! Oh, now I'm sure there's danger in it! What would a manbe paying ten pounds for to anybody just to take a message? Don't go, Hughie! What do you know of yon man except that he's a stranger thatnever speaks to a soul in the place, and wanders about like he was spyingthings? And I would liefer go without chair or table, pot or pan, thanthat you should be running risks in a lonesome place like that, and atthat time, with nobody near if you should be needing help. Don't go!"

"You're misunderstanding, " said I. "It's a plain and easy thing--I'venothing to do but ride there and back. And as for the ten pounds, it'sjust this way: yon Mr. Gilverthwaite has more money than he knows what todo with. He carries sovereigns in his pockets like they were sixpennypieces! Ten pounds is no more to him that ten pennies to us. And we'vehad the man in our house seven weeks now, and there's nobody could say anill word of him. "

"It's not so much him, " she answered. "It's what you may meet--there!For you've got to meet--somebody. You're going, then?"

"I've given my word, Maisie, " I said. "And you'll see there'll be noharm, and I'll give you a tap at the window as I pass your house comingback. And we'll do grand things with that ten pounds, too. "

"I'll never close my eyes till I hear you, then, " she replied. "And I'llnot be satisfied with any tap, neither. If you give one, I'll draw theblind an inch, and make sure it's yourself, Hughie. "

We settled it at that, with a kiss that was meant on my part to be one ofreassurance, and presently we parted, and I went off to get my bicycle inreadiness for the ride. 

CHAPTER III

THE RED STAIN

It was just half-past nine by the town clocks when I rode out across theold Border Bridge and turned up the first climb of the road that runsalongside the railway in the direction of Tillmouth Park, which was, ofcourse, my first objective. A hot, close night it was--there had beenthunder hanging about all day, and folk had expected it to break at anyminute, but up to this it had not come, and the air was thick andoppressive. I was running with sweat before I had ridden two miles alongthe road, and my head ached with the heaviness of the air, that seemed topress on me till I was like to be stifled. Under ordinary circumstancesnothing would have taken me out on such a night. But the circumstanceswere not ordinary, for it was the first time I had ever had the chance ofearning ten pounds by doing what appeared to be a very simple errand; andthough I was well enough inclined to be neighbourly to Mr. Gilverthwaite, it was certainly his money that was my chief inducement in going on hisbusiness at a time when all decent folk should be in their beds. And forthis first part of my journey my thoughts ran on that money, and on whatMaisie and I would do with it when it was safely in my pocket. We hadalready bought the beginnings of our furnishing, and had them stored inan unused warehouse at the back of her father's premises; with Mr. Gilverthwaite's bank-note, lying there snugly in waiting for me, weshould be able to make considerable additions to our stock, and thewedding-day would come nearer. 

But from these anticipations I presently began to think about theundertaking on which I was now fairly engaged. When I came to considerit, it seemed a queer affair. As I understood it, it amounted tothis:--Here was Mr. Gilverthwaite, a man that was a stranger in Berwick, and who appeared to have plenty of money and no business, suddenlygetting a letter which asked him to meet a man, near midnight, and inabout as lonely a spot as you could select out of the whole district. Whyat such a place, and at such an hour? And why was this meeting of so muchimportance that Mr. Gilverthwaite, being unable to keep the appointmenthimself, must pay as much as ten pounds to another person to keep it forhim? What I had said to Maisie about Mr. Gilverthwaite having so muchmoney that ten pounds was no more to him than ten pence to me was, ofcourse, all nonsense, said just to quieten her fears and suspicions--Iknew well enough, having seen a bit of the world in a solicitor's officefor the past six years, that even millionaires don't throw their moneyabout as if pounds were empty peascods. No! Mr. Gilverthwaite was givingme that money because he thought that I, as a lawyer's clerk, would seethe thing in its right light as a secret and an important business, andhold my tongue about it. And see it as a secret business I did--for whatelse could it be that would make two men meet near an old ruin atmidnight, when in a town where, at any rate, one of them was a stranger, and the other probably just as much so, they could have met by broad dayat a more convenient trysting-place without anybody having the leastconcern in their doings? There was strange and subtle mystery in allthis, and the thinking and pondering it over led me before long towondering about its first natural consequence--who and what was the man Iwas now on my way to meet, and where on earth could he be coming from tokeep a tryst at a place like that, and at that hour?

However, before I had covered three parts of that outward journey, I wasto meet another man who, all unknown to me, was to come into this trulyextraordinary series of events in which I, with no will of my own, wasjust beginning--all unawares--to be mixed up. Taking it roughly, and asthe crow flies, it is a distance of some nine or ten miles from Berwicktown to Twizel Bridge on the Till, whereat I was to turn off from themain road and take another, a by-lane, that would lead me down by the oldruin, close by which Till and Tweed meet. Hot as the night was, andunpleasant for riding, I had plenty and to spare of time in hand, andwhen I came to the cross-ways between Norham and Grindon, I got off mymachine and sat down on the bank at the roadside to rest a bit beforegoing further. It was a quiet and a very lonely spot that; for threemiles or more I had not met a soul along the road, and there being nextto nothing in the way of village or farmstead between me and Cornhill, Idid not expect to meet one in the next stages of my journey. But as I satthere on the bank, under a thick hedge, my bicycle lying at my side, Iheard steps coming along the road in the gloom--swift, sure steps, as ofa man who walks fast, and puts his feet firmly down as with determinationto get somewhere as soon as he may. And hearing that--and to this day Ihave often wondered what made me do it--I off with my cap, and laid itover the bicycle-lamp, and myself sat as still as any of the weecreatures that were doubtless lying behind me in the hedge. 

The steps came from the direction in which I was bound. There was a bitof a dip in the road just there: they came steadily, strongly, up it. Andpresently--for this was the height of June, when the nights are neverreally dark--the figure of a man came over the ridge of the dip, andshowed itself plain against a piece of grey sky that was framed by thefingers of the pines and firs on either side of the way. A strongly-builtfigure it was, and, as I said before, the man put his feet, evidentlywell shod, firmly and swiftly down, and with this alternate sound camethe steady and equally swift tapping of an iron-shod stick. Whoever thisnight-traveller was, it was certain he was making his way somewherewithout losing any time in the business. 

The man came close by me and my cover, seeing nothing, and at a fewyards' distance stopped dead. I knew why. He had come to thecross-roads, and it was evident from his movements that he was puzzledand uncertain. He went to the corners of each way: it seemed to me thathe was seeking for a guide-post. But, as I knew very well, there was noguide-post at any corner, and presently he came to the middle of theroads again and stood, looking this way and that, as if still in adubious mood. And then I heard a crackling and rustling as of stiffpaper--he was never more than a dozen yards from me all the time, --and inanother minute there was a spurt up of bluish flame, and I saw that theman had turned on the light of an electric pocket-torch and was shiningit on a map which he had unfolded and shaken out, and was holding in hisright hand. 

At this point I profited by a lesson which had been dinned into my earsa good many times since boyhood. Andrew Dunlop, Maisie's father, was oneof those men who are uncommonly fond of lecturing young folk in seasonand out of season. He would get a lot of us, boys and girls, together inhis parlour at such times as he was not behind the counter and give usadmonitions on what he called the practical things of life. And one ofhis favourite precepts--especially addressed to us boys--was "Cultivateyour powers of observation. " This advice fitted in very well with theaffairs of the career I had mapped out for myself--a solicitor shouldnaturally be an observant man, and I had made steady effort to do asAndrew Dunlop counselled. Therefore it was with a keenly observant eyethat I, all unseen, watched the man with his electric torch and hismap, and it did not escape my notice that the hand which held the mapwas short of the two middle fingers. But of the rest of him, except thathe was a tallish, well-made man, dressed in--as far as I could seethings--a gentlemanlike fashion in grey tweeds, I could see nothing. Inever caught one glimpse of his face, for all the time that he stoodthere it was in shadow. 

He did not stay there long either. The light of the electric torch wassuddenly switched off; I heard the crackling of the map again as hefolded it up and pocketed it. And just as suddenly he was once more onthe move, taking the by-way up to the north, which, as I knew well, ledto Norham, and--if he was going far--over the Tweed to Ladykirk. He wentaway at the same quick pace; but the surface in that by-way was not ashard and ringing as that of the main road, and before long the sound ofhis steps died away into silence, and the hot, oppressive night became asstill as ever. 

I presently mounted my bicycle again and rode forward on my last stage, and having crossed Twizel Bridge, turned down the lane to the old ruinclose by where Till runs into Tweed. It was now as dark as ever it wouldbe that night, and the thunderclouds which hung all over the valleydeepened the gloom. Gloomy and dark the spot indeed was where I was tomeet the man of whom Mr. Gilverthwaite had spoken. By the light of mybicycle lamp I saw that it was just turned eleven when I reached thespot; but so far as I could judge there was no man there to meetanybody. And remembering what I had been bidden to do, I spoke out loud. 

"From James Gilverthwaite, who is sick, and can't come himself, " Irepeated. And then, getting no immediate response, I spoke the passwordin just as loud a voice. But there was no response to that either, andfor the instant I thought how ridiculous it was to stand there and sayPanama to nobody. 

I made it out that the man had not yet come, and I was wheeling mybicycle to the side of the lane, there to place it against the hedge andto sit down myself, when the glancing light of the lamp fell on a greatred stain that had spread itself, and was still spreading, over the sandyground in front of me. And I knew on the instant that this was the stainof blood, and I do not think I was surprised when, advancing a step ortwo further, I saw, lying in the roadside grass at my feet, the stillfigure and white face of a man who, I knew with a sure and certaininstinct, was not only dead but had been cruelly murdered. 

CHAPTER IV

THE MURDERED MAN

There may be folk in the world to whom the finding of a dead man, lyinggrim and stark by the roadside, with the blood freshly run from it andmaking ugly patches of crimson on the grass and the gravel, would be anordinary thing; but to me that had never seen blood let in violence, except in such matters as a bout of fisticuffs at school, it was thebiggest thing that had ever happened, and I stood staring down at thewhite face as if I should never look at anything else as long as I lived. I remember all about that scene and that moment as freshly now as if theaffair had happened last night. The dead man lying in the crushedgrass--his arms thrown out helplessly on either side of him--the gloom ofthe trees all around--the murmuring of the waters, where Till was pouringits sluggish flood into the more active swirl and rush of the Tweed--thehot, oppressive air of the night--and the blood on the dry road--all thatwas what, at Mr. Gilverthwaite's bidding, I had ridden out from Berwickto find in that lonely spot. 

But I knew, of course, that James Gilverthwaite himself had not foreseenthis affair, nor thought that I should find a murdered man. And as I atlast drew breath, and lifted myself up a little from staring at thecorpse, a great many thoughts rushed into my head, and began to tumbleabout over each other. Was this the man Mr. Gilverthwaite meant me tomeet? Would Mr. Gilverthwaite have been murdered, too, if he had comethere in person? And had the man been murdered for the sake of robbery?But I answered that last question as soon as I asked it, and in thenegative, for the light of my lamp showed a fine, heavy gold watch-chainfestooned across the man's waistcoat--if murderously inclined thieves hadbeen at him, they were not like to have left that. Then I wondered if Ihad disturbed the murderers--it was fixed in me from the beginning thatthere must have been more than one in at this dreadful game--and if theywere still lurking about and watching me from the brushwood; and I madean effort, and bent down and touched one of the nerveless hands. It wasstiffened already, and I knew then that the man had been dead some time. 

And I knew another thing in that moment: poor Maisie, lying awake tolisten for the tap at her window, so that she might get up and peep roundthe corner of her blind to assure herself that her Hughie was alive andsafe, would have to lie quaking and speculating through the dark hours ofthat night, for here was work that was going to keep me busied till daybroke. I set to it there and then, leaving the man just as I had foundhim, and hastening back in the direction of the main road. As luck wouldhave it, I heard voices of men on Twizel Bridge, and ran right on thelocal police-sergeant and a constable, who had met there in the course oftheir night rounds. I knew them both, the sergeant being one Chisholm, and the constable a man named Turndale, and they knew me well enough fromhaving seen me in the court at Berwick; and it was with open-mouthedsurprise that they listened to what I had to tell them. Presently we wereall three round the dead man, and this time there was the light of threelamps on his face and on the gouts of blood that were all about him, andChisholm clicked his tongue sharply at what he saw. 

"Here's a sore sight for honest folk!" he said in a low voice, as he bentdown and touched one of the hands. "Aye, and he's been dead a good hour, I should say, by the feel of him! You heard nothing as you came down yonlane, Mr. Hugh?"

"Not a sound!" I answered. 

"And saw nothing?" he questioned. 

"Nothing and nobody!" I said. 

"Well, " said he, "we'll have to get him away from this. You'll have toget help, " he went on, turning to the constable. "Fetch some men to helpus carry him. He'll have to be taken to the nearest inn for theinquest--that's how the law is. I wasn't going to ask it while yon manwas about, Mr. Hugh, " he continued, when Turndale had gone hurryingtowards the village; "but you'll not mind me asking it now--what were youdoing here yourself, at this hour?"

"You've a good right, Chisholm, " said I; "and I'll tell you, for by all Ican see, there'll be no way of keeping it back, and it's no concern ofmine to keep it back, and I don't care who knows all about it--not me!The truth is, we've a lodger at our house, one Mr. James Gilverthwaite, that's a mysterious sort of man, and he's at present in his bed with achill or something that's like to keep him there; and tonight he got meto ride out here to meet a man whom he ought to have met himself--andthat's why I'm here and all that I have to do with it. "

"You don't mean to say that--that!" he exclaimed, jerking his thumb atthe dead man; "that--that's the man you were to meet?"

"Who else?" said I. "Can you think of any other that it would be? And I'mwondering if whoever killed this fellow, whoever he may be, wouldn't havekilled Mr. Gilverthwaite, too, if he'd come? This is no by-chance murder, Chisholm, as you'll be finding out. "

"Well, well, I never knew its like!" he remarked, staring from me to thebody, and from it to me. "You saw nobody about close by--nor in theneighbourhood--no strangers on the road?"

I was ready for that question. Ever since finding the body, I had beenwondering what I should say when authority, either in the shape of acoroner or a policeman, asked me about my own adventures that night. Tobe sure, I had seen a stranger, and I had observed that he had lost acouple of fingers, the first and second, of his right hand; and it wascertainly a queer thing that he should be in that immediate neighbourhoodabout the time when this unfortunate man met his death. But it had beenborne in on my mind pretty strongly that the man I had seen looking athis map was some gentleman-tourist who was walking the district, and hadas like as not been tramping it over Plodden Field and that historiccorner of the country, and had become benighted ere he could reachwherever his headquarters were. And I was not going to bring suspicion onwhat was in all probability an innocent stranger, so I answeredChisholm's question as I meant to answer any similar one--unless, indeed, I had reason to alter my mind. 

"I saw nobody and heard nothing--about here, " said I. "It's not likelythere'd be strangers in this spot at midnight. "

"For that matter, the poor fellow is a stranger himself, " said he, oncemore turning his lamp on the dead face. "Anyway, he's not known to me, and I've been in these parts twenty years. And altogether it's a finemystery you've hit on, Mr. Hugh, and there'll be strange doings beforewe're at the bottom of it, I'm thinking. "

That there was mystery in this affair was surer than ever when, havinggot the man to the nearest inn, and brought more help, including adoctor, they began to examine him and his clothing. And now that I sawhim in a stronger light, I found that he was a strongly built, well-mademan of about Mr. Gilverthwaite's age--say, just over sixty years orso, --dressed in a gentlemanlike fashion, and wearing good boots and linenand a tweed suit of the sort affected by tourists. There was a good dealof money in his pockets--bank-notes, gold, and silver--and an expensivewatch and chain, and other such things that a gentleman would carry; andit seemed very evident that robbery had not been the motive of themurderers. But of papers that could identify the man there wasnothing--in the shape of paper or its like there was not one scrap in allthe clothing, except the return half of a railway ticket between Peeblesand Coldstream, and a bit of a torn bill-head giving the name and addressof a tradesman in Dundee. 

"There's something to go on, anyway, " remarked Chisholm, as he carefullyput these things aside after pointing out to us that the ticket wasdated on what was now the previous day (for it was already well pastmidnight, and the time was creeping on to morning), and that the deadman must accordingly have come to Coldstream not many hours before hisdeath; "and we'll likely find something about him from either Dundee orPeebles. But I'm inclined to think, Mr. Hugh, " he continued, drawing measide, "that even though they didn't rob the man of his money andvaluables, they took something else from him that may have been of muchmore value than either. "

"What?" I asked. 

"Papers!" said he. "Look at the general appearance of the man! He's nocommon or ordinary sort. Is it likely, now, such a man would be withoutletters and that sort of thing in his pockets? Like as not he'd carry hispocket-book, and it may have been this pocket-book with what was in itthey were after, and not troubling about his purse at all. "

"They made sure of him, anyway, " said I, and went out of the room wherethey had laid the body, not caring to stay longer. For I had heard whatthe doctor said--that the man had been killed on the spot by a singleblow from a knife or dagger which had been thrust into his heart frombehind with tremendous force, and the thought of it was sickening me. "What are you going to do now?" I asked of Chisholm, who had followed me. "And do you want me any more, sergeant?--for, if not, I'm anxious to getback to Berwick. "

"That's just where I'm coming with you, " he answered. "I've my bicycleclose by, and we'll ride into the town together at once. For, do you see, Mr. Hugh, there's just one man hereabouts that can give us some light onthis affair straightaway--if he will--and that the lodger you weretelling me of. And I must get in and see the superintendent, and we mustget speech with this Mr. Gilverthwaite of yours--for, if he knows nomore, he'll know who yon man is!"

I made no answer to that. I had no certain answer to make. I was alreadywondering about a lot of conjectures. Would Mr. Gilverthwaite know whothe man was? Was he the man I ought to have met? Or had that man beenthere, witnessed the murder, and gone away, frightened to stop where themurder had been done? Or--yet again--was this some man who had come uponMr. Gilverthwaite's correspondent, and, for some reason, been murderedby him? It was, however, all beyond me just then, and presently thesergeant and I were on our machines and making for Berwick. But we hadnot been set out half an hour, and were only just where we could seethe town's lights before us in the night, when two folk came ridingbicycles through the mist that lay thick in a dip of the road, and, calling to me, let me know that they were Maisie Dunlop and her brotherTom that she had made to come with her, and in another minute Maisie andI were whispering together. 

"It's all right now that I know you're safe, Hugh, " she saidbreathlessly. "But you must get back with me quickly. Yon lodger of yoursis dead, and your mother in a fine way, wondering where you are!"

CHAPTER V

THE BRASS-BOUND CHEST

The police-sergeant had got off his bicycle at the same time that Ijumped from mine, and he was close behind me when Maisie and I met, and Iheard him give a sharp whistle at her news. And as for me, I wasdumbfounded, for though I had seen well enough that Mr. Gilverthwaite wasvery ill when I left him, I was certainly a long way from thinking himlike to die. Indeed, I was so astonished that all I could do was to standstaring at Maisie in the grey light which was just coming between themidnight and the morning. But the sergeant found his tongue more readily. 

"I suppose he died in his bed, miss?" he asked softly. "Mr. Hugh heresaid he was ill; it would be a turn for the worse, no doubt, after Mr. Hugh left him?"

"He died suddenly just after eleven o'clock, " answered Maisie; "and yourmother sought you at Mr. Lindsey's office, Hugh, and when she found youweren't there, she came down to our house, and I had to tell her thatyou'd come out this way on an errand for Mr. Gilverthwaite. And I toldher, too, what I wasn't so sure of myself, that there'd no harm come toyou of it, and that you'd be back soon after twelve, and I went down toyour house and waited with her; and when you didn't come, and didn'tcome, why, I got Tom here to get our bicycles out and we came to seekyou. And let's be getting back, for your mother's anxious about you, andthe man's death has upset her--he went all at once, she said, while shewas with him. "

We all got on our bicycles again and set off homewards, and Chisholmwheeled alongside me and we dropped behind a little. 

"This is a strange affair, " said he, in a low voice; "and it's like to bemade stranger by this man's sudden death. I'd been looking to him to getnews of this other man. What do you know of Mr. Gilverthwaite, now?"

"Nothing!" said I. 

"But he's lodged with you seven weeks?" said he. 

"If you'd known him, sergeant, " I answered, "you'd know that he was thissort of man--you'd know no more of him at the end of seven months thanyou would at the end of seven weeks, and no more at the end of sevenyears than at the end of seven months. We knew nothing, my mother and I, except that he was a decent, well-spoken man, free with his money andhaving plenty of it, and that his name was what he called it, and that hesaid he'd been a master mariner. But who he was, or where he came from, Iknow no more than you do. "

"Well, he'll have papers, letters, something or other that'll throw somelight on matters, no doubt?" he suggested. "Can you say as to that?"

"I can tell you that he's got a chest in his chamber that's nigh as heavyas if it were made of solid lead, " I answered. "And doubtless he'll havea key on him or about him that'll unlock it. But what might be in it, Ican't say, never having seen him open it at any time. "

"Well, " he said, "I'll have to bring the superintendent down, and we musttrouble your mother to let us take a look at this Mr. Gilverthwaite'seffects. Had he a doctor to him since he was taken ill?"

"Dr. Watson--this--I mean yesterday--afternoon, " I answered. 

"Then there'll be no inquest in his case, " said the sergeant, "for thedoctor'll be able to certify. But there'll be a searching inquiry in thismurder affair, and as Gilverthwaite sent you to meet the man that's beenmurdered--"

"Wait a bit!" said I. "You don't know, and I don't, that the man who'sbeen murdered is the man I was sent to meet. The man I was to meet mayhave been the murderer; you don't know who the murdered man is. So you'dbetter put it this way: since Gilverthwaite sent me to meet some man atthe place where this murder's been committed--well?"

"That'll be one of your lawyer's quibbles, " said he calmly. "My meaning'splain enough--we'll want to find out, if we can, who it was thatGilverthwaite sent you to meet. And--for what reason? And--where it wasthat the man was to wait for him? And I'll get the superintendent tocome down presently. "

"Make it in, say, half an hour, " said I. "This is a queer businessaltogether, sergeant, and I'm so much in it that I'm not going to dothings on my own responsibility. I'll call Mr. Lindsey up from his bed, and get him to come down to talk over what's to be done. "

"Aye, you're in the right of it there, " he said. "Mr. Lindsey'll know allthe law on such matters. Half an hour or so, then. "

He made off to the county police-station, and Maisie and Tom and I wenton to our house, and were presently inside. My mother was so relieved atthe sight of me that she forbore to scold me at that time for going offon such an errand without telling her of my business; but she grew whiteas her cap when I told her of what I had chanced on, and she glanced atthe stair and shook her head. 

"And indeed I wish that poor man had never come here, if it's this sortof dreadfulness follows him!" she said. "And though I was slow to sayit, Hugh, I always had a feeling of mystery about him. However, he'sgone now--and died that suddenly and quietly!--and we've laid him out inhis bed; and--and--what's to be done now?" she exclaimed. "We don't knowwho he is!"

"Don't trouble yourself, mother, " said I. "You've done your duty by him. And now that you've seen I'm safe, I'm away to bring Mr. Lindsey down andhe'll tell us all that should be done. "

I left Maisie and Tom Dunlop keeping my mother company and made haste toMr. Lindsey's house, and after a little trouble roused him out of his bedand got him down to me. It was nearly daylight by that time, and the greymorning was breaking over the sea and the river as he and I walked backthrough the empty streets--I telling him of all the events of the night, and he listening with an occasional word of surprise. He was not a nativeof our parts, but a Yorkshireman that had bought a practice in the townsome years before, and had gained a great character for shrewdness andability, and I knew that he was the very man to turn to in an affair ofthis sort. 

"There's a lot more in this than's on the surface, Hugh, my lad, " heremarked when I had made an end of my tale. "And it'll be a nice jobto find out all the meaning of it, and if the man that's been murderedwas the man Gilverthwaite sent you to meet, or if he's some other thatgot there before you, and was got rid of for some extraordinary reasonthat we know nothing about. But one thing's certain: we've got to getsome light on your late lodger. That's step number one--and a mostimportant one. "

The superintendent of police, Mr. Murray, a big, bustling man, wasoutside our house with Chisholm when we got there, and after a word ortwo between us, we went in, and were presently upstairs inGilverthwaite's room. He lay there in his bed, the sheet drawn about himand a napkin over his face; and though the police took a look at him, Ikept away, being too much upset by the doings of the night to stand anymore just then. What I was anxious about was to get some inkling of whatall this meant, and I waited impatiently to see what Mr. Lindsey woulddo. He was looking about the room, and when the others turned away fromthe dead man he pointed to Gilverthwaite's clothes, that were laid tidilyfolded on a chair. 

"The first thing to do is to search for his papers and his keys, " hesaid. "Go carefully through his pockets, sergeant, and let's see whatthere is. "

But there was as little in the way of papers there, as there had been inthe case of the murdered man. There were no letters. There was a map ofthe district, and under the names of several of the villages and placeson either side of the Tweed, between Berwick and Kelso, heavy marks inblue pencil had been made. I, who knew something of Gilverthwaite'shabits, took it that these were the places he had visited during hisseven weeks' stay with us. And folded in the map were scraps of newspapercuttings, every one of them about some antiquity or other in theneighbourhood, as if such things had an interest for him. And in anotherpocket was a guide-book, much thumbed, and between two of the leaves, slipped as if to mark a place, was a registered envelope. 

"That'll be what he got yesterday afternoon!" I exclaimed. "I'm certainit was whatever there was in it that made him send me out last night, andmaybe the letter in it'll tell us something. "

However, there was no letter in the envelope--there was nothing. But onthe envelope itself was a postmark, at which Chisholm instantly pointed. 

"Peebles!" said he. "Yon man that you found murdered--his half-ticket'sfor Peebles. There's something of a clue, anyway. "

They went on searching the clothing, only to find money--plenty of it, notes in an old pocket-book, and gold in a wash-leather bag--and theman's watch and chain, and his pocket-knife and the like, and a bunch ofkeys. And with the keys in his hand Mr. Lindsey turned to the chest. 

"If we're going to find anything that'll throw any light on the questionof this man's identity, it'll be in this box, " he said. "I'll take theresponsibility of opening it, in Mrs. Moneylaws' interest, anyway. Liftit on to that table, and let's see if one of these keys'll fit the lock. "

There was no difficulty about finding the key--there were but a few onthe bunch, and he hit on the right one straightaway, and we all crowdedround him as he threw back the heavy lid. There was a curious aromaticsmell came from within, a sort of mingling of cedar and camphor andspices--a smell that made you think of foreign parts and queer, far-offplaces. And it was indeed a strange collection of things and objects thatMr. Lindsey took out of the chest and set down on the table. There was anold cigar-box, tied about with twine, full to the brim with money--overtwo thousand pounds in bank-notes and gold, as we found on counting it uplater on, --and there were others filled with cigars, and yet others inwhich the man had packed all manner of curiosities such as three of us atany rate had never seen in our lives before. But Mr. Lindsey, who wassomething of a curiosity collector himself, nodded his head at the sightof some of them. 

"Wherever else this man may have been in his roving life, " he said, "here's one thing certain--he's spent a lot of time in Mexico and CentralAmerica. And--what was the name he told you to use as a password once youmet his man, Hugh--wasn't it Panama?"

"Panama!" I answered. "Just that--Panama. "

"Well, and he's picked up lots of these things in those parts--Panama, Nicaragua, Mexico, " he said. "And very interesting matters they are. But--you see, superintendent?--there's not a paper nor anything in thischest to tell us who this man is, nor where he came from when he camehere, nor where his relations are to be found, if he has any. There'sliterally nothing whatever of that sort. "

The police officials nodded in silence. 

"And so--there's where things are, " concluded Mr. Lindsey. "You'vetwo dead men on your hands, and you know nothing whatever abouteither of them!"

CHAPTER VI

MR. JOHN PHILLIPS

He began to put back the various boxes and parcels into the chest as hespoke, and we all looked at each other as men might look who, taking away unknown to them, come up against a blank wall. But Chisholm, who wasa sharp fellow, with a good headpiece on him, suddenly spoke. 

"There's the fact that the murdered man sent that letter from Peebles, "said he, "and that he himself appears to have travelled from Peebles butyesterday. We might be hearing something of him at Peebles, and from whatwe might hear, there or elsewhere, we might get some connection betweenthe two of them. "

"You're right in all that, sergeant, " said Mr. Lindsey, "and it's toPeebles some of you'll have to go. For the thing's plain--that man hasbeen murdered by somebody, and the first way to get at the somebody is tofind out who the murdered man is, and why he came into these parts. Asfor him, " he continued, pointing significantly to the bed, "hissecret--whatever it is--has gone with him. And our question now is, Canwe get at it in any other way?"

We had more talk downstairs, and it was settled that Chisholm and Ishould go on to Peebles by the first train that morning, find out whatwe could there, and work back to the Cornhill station, where, accordingto the half-ticket which had been found on him, the murdered manappeared to have come on the evening of his death. Meanwhile, Murraywould have the scene of the murder thoroughly and strictly searched--thedaylight might reveal things which we had not been able to discover bythe light of the lamps. 

"And there's another thing you can do, " suggested Lindsey. "That scrap ofa bill-head with a name and address in Dundee on it, that you found onhim, you might wire there and see if anything is known of the man. Anybit of information you can get in that way--"

"You're forgetting, Mr. Lindsey, that we don't know any name by which wecan call the man, " objected Chisholm. "We'll have to find a name for himbefore we can wire to Dundee or anywhere else. But if we can trace a nameto him in Peebles--"

"Aye, that'll be the way of it, " said Murray. "Let's be getting all theinformation we can during the day, and I'll settle with the coroner'sofficer for the inquest at yon inn where you've taken him--it can't beheld before tomorrow morning. Mr. Lindsey, " he went on, "what are yougoing to do as regards this man that's lying dead upstairs? Mrs. Moneylaws says the doctor had been twice with him, and'll be able to givea certificate, so there'll be no inquest about him; but what's to be doneabout his friends and relations? It's likely there'll be somebody, somewhere. And--all that money on him and in his chest?"

Mr. Lindsey shook his head and smiled. 

"If you think all this'll be done in hole-and-corner fashion, superintendent, " he said, "you're not the wise man I take you for. Lordbless you, man, the news'll be all over the country within forty-eighthours! If this Gilverthwaite has folk of his own, they'll be here fast ascrows hurry to a new-sown field! Let the news of it once out, and you'llwish that such men as newspaper reporters had never been born. You can'tkeep these things quiet; and if we're going to get to the bottom of allthis, then publicity's the very thing that's needed. "

All this was said in the presence of my mother, who, being by nature asquiet a body as ever lived, was by no means pleased to know that herhouse was, as it were, to be made a centre of attraction. And when Mr. Lindsey and the police had gone away, and she began getting somebreakfast ready for me before my going to meet Chisholm at the station, she set on to bewail our misfortune in ever taking Gilverthwaite into thehouse, and so getting mixed up with such awful things as murder. Sheshould have had references with the man, she said, before taking him in, and so have known who she was dealing with. And nothing that either I orMaisie--who was still there, staying to be of help, Tom Dunlop havinggone home to tell his father the great news--could say would drive out ofher head the idea that Gilverthwaite, somehow or other, had something todo with the killing of the strange man. And, womanlike, and not beingover-amenable to reason, she saw no cause for a great fuss about theaffair in her own house, at any rate. The man was dead, she said, and letthem get him put decently away, and hold his money till somebody cameforward to claim it--all quietly and without the pieces in the paper thatMr. Lindsey talked about. 

"And how are we to let people know anything about him if there isn't newsin the papers?" I asked. "It's only that way that we can let hisrelatives know he's dead, mother. You're forgetting that we don't evenknow where the man's from!"

"Maybe I've a better idea of where he was from, when he came here, thanany lawyer-folk or police-folk either, my man!" she retorted, giving meand Maisie a sharp look. "I've eyes in my head, anyway, and it doesn'ttake me long to see a thing that's put plain before them. "

"Well?" said I, seeing quick enough that she'd some notion in her mind. "You've found something out?"

Without answering the question in words she went out of the kitchen andup the stairs, and presently came back to us, carrying in one hand aman's collar and in the other Gilverthwaite's blue serge jacket. And sheturned the inside of the collar to us, pointing her finger to some wordsstamped in black on the linen. 

"Take heed of that!" she said. "He'd a dozen of those collars, brand-new, when he came, and this, you see, is where he bought them; andwhere he bought them, there, too, he bought his ready-made suit ofclothes--that was brand-new as well, --here's the name on a tab inside thecoat: Brown Brothers, Gentlemen's Outfitters, Exchange Street, Liverpool. What does all that prove but that it was from Liverpool he came?"

"Aye!" I said. "And it proves, too, that he was wanting an outfit when hecame to Liverpool from--where? A long way further afield, I'm thinking!But it's something to know as much as that, and you've no doubt hit on aclue that might be useful, mother. And if we can find out that the otherman came from Liverpool, too, why then--"

But I stopped short there, having a sudden vision of a very wide world ofwhich Liverpool was but an outlet. Where had Gilverthwaite last come fromwhen he struck Liverpool, and set himself up with new clothes and linen?And had this mysterious man who had met such a terrible fate come alsofrom some far-off part, to join him in whatever it was that had broughtGilverthwaite to Berwick? And--a far more important thing, --mysterious asthese two men were, what about the equally mysterious man that wassomewhere in the background--the murderer?

Chisholm and I had no great difficulty--indeed, we had nothing that youmight call a difficulty--in finding out something about the murdered manat Peebles. We had the half-ticket with us, and we soon got hold of thebooking-clerk who had issued it on the previous afternoon. He rememberedthe looks of the man to whom he had sold it, and described him to us wellenough. Moreover, he found us a ticket-collector who remembered that sameman arriving in Peebles two days before, and giving up a ticket fromGlasgow. He had a reason for remembering him, for the man had asked himto recommend him to a good hotel, and had given him a two-shilling piecefor his trouble. So far, then, we had plain sailing, and it continuedplain and easy during the short time we stayed in Peebles. And it came tothis: the man we were asking about came to the town early in theafternoon of the day before the murder; he put himself up at the besthotel in the place; he was in and out of it all the afternoon andevening; he stayed there until the middle of the afternoon of the nextday, when he paid his bill and left. And there was the name he hadwritten in the register book--Mr. John Phillips, Glasgow. 

Chisholm drew me out of the hotel where we had heard all this and pulledthe scrap of bill-head from his pocket-book. 

"Now that we've got the name to go on, " said he, "we'll send a wire tothis address in Dundee asking if anything's known there of Mr. JohnPhillips. And we'll have the reply sent to Berwick--it'll be waiting uswhen we get back this morning. "

The name and address in Dundee was of one Gavin Smeaton, Agent, 131A BankStreet. And the question which Chisholm sent him over the wire was plainand direct enough: Could he give the Berwick police any information abouta man named John Phillips, found dead, on whose body Mr. Smeaton's nameand address had been discovered?

"We may get something out of that, " said Chisholm, as we left thepost-office, "and we may get nothing. And now that we do know that thisman left here for Coldstream, let's get back there, and go on with ourtracing of his movements last night. "

But when we had got back to our own district we were quickly at a deadloss. The folk at Cornhill station remembered the man well enough. He hadarrived there about half-past eight the previous evening. He had beenseen to go down the road to the bridge which leads over the Tweed toColdstream. We could not find out that he had asked the way ofanybody--he appeared to have just walked that way as if he were wellacquainted with the place. But we got news of him at an inn just acrossthe bridge. Such a man--a gentleman, the inn folk called him--had walkedin there, asked for a glass of whisky, lingered for a few minutes whilehe drank it, and had gone out again. And from that point we lost alltrace of him. We were now, of course, within a few miles of the placewhere the man had been murdered, and the people on both sides of theriver were all in a high state of excitement about it; but we could learnnothing more. From the moment of the man's leaving the inn on theColdstream side of the bridge, nobody seemed to have seen him until Imyself found his body. 

There was another back-set for us when we reached Berwick--in the replyfrom Dundee. It was brief and decisive enough. "Have no knowledgewhatever of any person named John Phillips--Gavin Smeaton. " So, for themoment, there was nothing to be gained from that quarter. 

Mr. Lindsey and I were at the inn where the body had been taken, andwhere the inquest was to be held, early next morning, in company withthe police, and amidst a crowd that had gathered from all parts ofthe country. As we hung about, waiting the coroner's arrival, agentleman rode up on a fine bay horse--a good-looking elderly man, whose coming attracted much attention. He dismounted and came towardsthe inn door, and as he drew the glove off his right hand I saw thatthe first and second fingers of that hand were missing. Here, withoutdoubt, was the man whom I had seen at the cross-roads just before mydiscovery of the murder!

CHAPTER VII

THE INQUEST ON JOHN PHILLIPS

Several of the notabilities of the neighbourhood had ridden or driven tothe inn, attracted, of course, by curiosity, and the man with the maimedhand immediately joined them as they stood talking apart from the rest ofus. Now, I knew all such people of our parts well enough by sight, but Idid not know this man, who certainly belonged to their class, and Iturned to Mr. Lindsey, asking him who was this gentleman that had justridden up. He glanced at me with evident surprise at my question. 

"What?" said he. "You don't know him? That's the man there's been so muchtalk about lately--Sir Gilbert Carstairs of Hathercleugh House, the newsuccessor to the old baronetcy. "

I knew at once what he meant. Between Norham and Berwick, overlooking theTweed, and on the English side of the river, stood an ancient, picturesque, romantic old place, half-mansion, half-castle, set in itsown grounds, and shut off from the rest of the world by high walls andgroves of pine and fir, which had belonged for many a generation to theold family of Carstairs. Its last proprietor, Sir Alexander Carstairs, sixth baronet, had been a good deal of a recluse, and I never rememberseeing him but once, when I caught sight of him driving in the town--avery, very old man who looked like what he really was, a hermit. He hadbeen a widower for many long years, and though he had three children, itwas little company that he seemed to have ever got out of them, for hiselder son, Mr. Michael Carstairs, had long since gone away to foreignparts, and had died there; his younger son, Mr. Gilbert, was, it wasunderstood, a doctor in London, and never came near the old place; andhis one daughter, Mrs. Ralston, though she lived within ten miles of herfather, was not on good terms with him. It was said that the oldgentleman was queer and eccentric, and hard to please or manage; howeverthat may be, it is certain that he lived a lonely life till he was wellover eighty years of age. And he had died suddenly, not so very longbefore James Gilverthwaite came to lodge with us; and Mr. Michael beingdead, unmarried, and therefore without family, the title and estate hadpassed to Mr. Gilbert, who had recently come down to Hathercleugh Houseand taken possession, bringing with him--though he himself was getting onin years, being certainly over fifty--a beautiful young wife whom, theysaid, he had recently married, and was, according to various accountswhich had crept out, a very wealthy woman in her own right. 

So here was Sir Gilbert Carstairs, seventh baronet, before me, chattingaway to some of the other gentlemen of the neighbourhood, and there wasnot a doubt in my mind that he was the man whom I had seen on the roadthe night of the murder. I was close enough to him now to look moreparticularly at his hand, and I saw that the two first fingers hadcompletely disappeared, and that the rest of it was no more than a claw. It was not likely there could be two men in our neighbourhood thusdisfigured. Moreover, the general build of the man, the tweed suit ofgrey that he was wearing, the attitude in which he stood, all convincedme that this was the person I had seen at the cross-roads, holding hiselectric torch to the face of his map. And I made up my mind there andthen to say nothing in my evidence about that meeting, for I had noreason to connect such a great gentleman as Sir Gilbert Carstairs withthe murder, and it seemed to me that his presence at those cross-roadswas easily enough explained. He was a big, athletic man and was likelyfond of a walk, and had been taking one that evening, and, not as yetbeing over-familiar with the neighbourhood--having lived so long awayfrom it, --had got somewhat out of his way in returning home. No, I wouldsay nothing. I had been brought up to have a firm belief in the oldproverb which tells you that the least said is soonest mended. We wereall packed pretty tightly in the big room of the inn when the coroneropened his inquiry. And at the very onset of the proceedings he made aremark which was expected by all of us that knew how these things aredone and are likely to go. We could not do much that day; there wouldhave to be an adjournment, after taking what he might call the surfaceevidence. He understood, he remarked, with a significant glance at thepolice officials and at one or two solicitors that were there, that therewas some extraordinary mystery at the back of this matter, and that agood many things would have to be brought to light before the jury couldget even an idea as to who it was that had killed the man whose body hadbeen found, and as to the reason for his murder. And all they could dothat day, he went on, was to hear such evidence--not much--as had alreadybeen collected, and then to adjourn. 

Mr. Lindsey had said to me as we drove along to the inn that I shouldfind myself the principal witness, and that Gilverthwaite would come intothe matter more prominently than anybody fancied. And this, of course, was soon made evident. What there was to tell of the dead man, up to thattime, was little. There was the medical evidence that he had been stabbedto death by a blow from a very formidable knife or dagger, which had beendriven into his heart from behind. There was the evidence which Chisholmand I had collected in Peebles and at Cornhill station, and at the innacross the Coldstream Bridge. There was the telegram which had been sentby Mr. Gavin Smeaton--whoever he might be--from Dundee. And that wasabout all, and it came to this: that here was a man who, in registeringat a Peebles hotel, called himself John Phillips and wrote down that hecame from Glasgow, where, up to that moment, the police had failed totrace anything relating to such a person; and this man had travelled toCornhill station from Peebles, been seen in an adjacent inn, had thendisappeared, and had been found, about two hours later, murdered in alonely place. 

"And the question comes to this, " observed the coroner, "what was thisman doing at that place, and who was he likely to meet there? We havesome evidence on that point, and, " he added, with one shrewd glance atthe legal folk in front of him and another at the jurymen at his side, "I think you'll find, gentlemen of the jury, that it's just enough towhet your appetite for more. "

They had kept my evidence to the last, and if there had been a good dealof suppressed excitement in the crowded room while Chisholm and thedoctor and the landlord of the inn on the other side of Coldstream Bridgegave their testimonies, there was much more when I got up to tell mytale, and to answer any questions that anybody liked to put to me. Mine, of course, was a straight enough story, told in a few sentences, and Idid not see what great amount of questioning could arise out of it. Butwhether it was that he fancied I was keeping something back, or that hewanted, even at that initial stage of the proceedings, to make matters asplain as possible, a solicitor that was representing the county policebegan to ask me questions. 

"There was no one else with you in the room when this man Gilverthwaitegave you his orders?" he asked. 

"No one, " I answered. 

"And you've told me everything that he said to you?"

"As near as I can recollect it, every word. "

"He didn't describe the man you were to meet?"

"He didn't--in any way. "

"Nor tell you his name?"

"Nor tell me his name. "

"So that you'd no idea whatever as to who it was that you were to meet, nor for what purpose he was coming to meet Gilverthwaite, ifGilverthwaite had been able to meet him?"

"I'd no idea, " said I. "I knew nothing but that I was to meet a man andgive him a message. "

He seemed to consider matters a little, keeping silence, and then he wentoff on another tack. 

"What do you know of the movements of this man Gilverthwaite while he waslodging with your mother?" he asked. 

"Next to nothing, " I replied. 

"But how much?" he inquired. "You'd know something. "

"Of my own knowledge, next to nothing, " I repeated. "I've seen him in thestreets, and on the pier, and taking his walks on the walls and over theBorder Bridge; and I've heard him say that he'd been out in the country. And that's all. "

"Was he always alone?" he asked. 

"I never saw him with anybody, never heard of his talking to anybody, norof his going to see a soul in the place, " I answered; "and first andlast, he never brought any one into our house, nor had anybody asked atthe door for him. "

"And with the exception of that registered letter we've heard of, henever had a letter delivered to him all the time he lodged withyou?" he said. 

"Not one, " said I. "From first to last, not one. "

He was silent again for a time, and all the folk staring at him and me;and for the life of me I could not think what other questions he couldget out of his brain to throw at me. But he found one, and put it with asharp cast of his eye. 

"Now, did this man ever give you, while he was in your house, any reasonat all for his coming to Berwick?" he asked. 

"Yes, " I answered; "he did that when he came asking for lodgings. He saidhe had folk of his own buried in the neighbourhood, and he was minded totake a look at their graves and at the old places where they'd lived. "

"Giving you, in fact, an impression that he was either a native ofthese parts, or had lived here at some time, or had kindred thathad?" he asked. 

"Just that, " I replied. 

"Did he tell you the names of such folk, or where they were buried, oranything of that sort?" he suggested. 

"No--never, " said I. "He never mentioned the matter again. "

"And you don't know that he ever went to any particular place to look atany particular grave or house?" he inquired. 

"No, " I replied; "but we knew that he took his walks into the country onboth sides Tweed. "

He hesitated a bit, looked at me and back at his papers, and then, with aglance at the coroner, sat down. And the coroner, nodding at him as ifthere was some understanding between them, turned to the jury. 

"It may seem without the scope of this inquiry, gentlemen, " he said, "but the presence of this man Gilverthwaite in the neighbourhood hasevidently so much to do with the death of the other man, whom we know asJohn Phillips, that we must not neglect any pertinent evidence. There isa gentleman present that can tell us something. Call the ReverendSeptimus Ridley. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE PARISH REGISTERS

I had noticed the Reverend Mr. Ridley sitting in the room with some othergentlemen of the neighbourhood, and had wondered what had brought him, aclergyman, there. I knew him well enough by sight. He was a vicar of alonely parish away up in the hills--a tall, thin, student-looking manthat you might occasionally see in the Berwick streets, walking very fastwith his eyes on the ground, as if, as the youngsters say, he was seekingsixpences; and I should not have thought him likely to be attracted to anaffair of that sort by mere curiosity. And, whatever he might be in hispulpit, he looked very nervous and shy as he stood up between the coronerand the jury to give his evidence. 

"Whatever are we going to hear now?" whispered Mr. Lindsey in my ear. "Didn't I tell you there'd be revelations about Gilverthwaite, Hugh, mylad? Well, there's something coming out! But what can this parson know?"

As it soon appeared, Mr. Ridley knew a good deal. After a bit ofpreliminary questioning, making things right in the proper legal fashionas to who he was, and so on, the coroner put a plain inquiry to him. "Mr. Ridley, you have had some recent dealings with this man JamesGilverthwaite, who has just been mentioned in connection with thisinquiry?" he asked. 

"Some dealings recently--yes, " answered the clergyman. 

"Just tell us, in your own way, what they were, " said the coroner. "And, of course, when they took place. "

"Gilverthwaite, " said Mr. Ridley, "came to me, at my vicarage, about amonth or five weeks ago. I had previously seen him about the church andchurchyard. He told me he was interested in parish registers, and inantiquities generally, and asked if he could see our registers, offeringto pay whatever fee was charged. I allowed him to look at the registers, but I soon discovered that his interest was confined to a particularperiod. The fact was, he wished to examine the various entries madebetween 1870 and 1880. That became very plain; but as he did not expresshis wish in so many words, I humoured him. Still, as I was with himduring the whole of the time he was looking at the books, I saw what itwas that he examined. "

Here Mr. Ridley paused, glancing at the coroner. 

"That is really about all that I can tell, " he said. "He only came to meon that one occasion. "

"Perhaps I can get a little more out of you, Mr. Ridley, " remarked thecoroner with a smile. "A question or two, now. What particular registersdid this man examine? Births, deaths, marriages--which?"

"All three, between the dates I have mentioned--1870 to 1880, " repliedMr. Ridley. 

"Did you think that he was searching for some particular entry?"

"I certainly did think so. "

"Did he seem to find it?" asked the coroner, with a shrewd glance. 

"If he did find such an entry, " replied Mr. Ridley slowly, "he gave nosign of it; he did not copy or make a note of it, and he did not ask anycopy of it from me. My impression--whatever it is worth--is that he didnot find what he wanted in our registers. I am all the more convinced ofthat because--"

Here Mr. Ridley paused, as if uncertain whether to proceed or not; but atan encouraging nod from the coroner he went on. 

"I was merely going to say--and I don't suppose it is evidence--" headded, "that I understand this man visited several of my brotherclergymen in the neighbourhood on the same errand. It was talked of atthe last meeting of our rural deanery. "

"Ah!" remarked the coroner significantly. "He appears, then, to have beengoing round examining the parish registers--we must get more evidence ofthat later, for I'm convinced it has a bearing on the subject of thispresent inquiry. But a question or two more, Mr. Ridley. There arestipulated fees for searching the registers, I believe. Did Gilverthwaitepay them in your case?"

Mr. Ridley smiled. 

"He not only paid the fees, " he answered, "but he forced me to acceptsomething for the poor box. He struck me as being a man who was inclinedto be free with his money. "

The coroner looked at the solicitor who was representing the police. 

"I don't know if you want to ask this witness any questions?" heinquired. 

"Yes, " said the solicitor. He turned to Mr. Ridley. "You heard what thewitness Hugh Moneylaws said?--that Gilverthwaite mentioned on his comingto Berwick that he had kinsfolk buried in the neighbourhood? You did?Well, Mr. Ridley, do you know if there are people of that name buried inyour churchyard?"

"There are not, " replied Mr. Ridley promptly. "What is more, the nameGilverthwaite does not occur in our parish registers. I have a completeindex of the registers from 1580, when they began to be kept, and thereis no such name in it. I can also tell you this, " he added, "I am, Ithink I may say, something of an authority on the parish registers ofthis district--I have prepared and edited several of them forpublication, and I am familiar with most of them. I do not think thatname, Gilverthwaite, occurs in any of them. "

"What do you deduce from that, now?" asked the solicitor. 

"That whatever it was that the man was searching for--and I am sure hewas searching--it was not for particulars of his father's family, "answered Mr. Ridley. "That is, of course, if his name really was what hegave it out to be--Gilverthwaite. "

"Precisely!" said the coroner. "It may have been an assumed name. "

"The man may have been searching for particulars of his mother's family, "remarked the solicitor. 

"That line of thought would carry us too far afield just now, " said thecoroner. He turned to the jury. "I've allowed this evidence about the manGilverthwaite, gentlemen, " he said, "because it's very evident thatGilverthwaite came to this neighbourhood for some special purpose andwanted to get some particular information; and it's more than probablethat the man into the circumstances of whose death we're inquiring wasconcerned with him in his purpose. But we cannot go any further today, "he concluded, "and I shall adjourn the inquiry for a fortnight, when, nodoubt, there'll be more evidence to put before you. "

I think that the folk who had crowded into that room, all agog to hearwhatever could be told, went out of it more puzzled than when they camein. They split up into groups outside the inn, and began to discussmatters amongst themselves. And presently two sharp-looking youngfellows, whom I had seen taking notes at the end of the big tablewhereat the coroner and the officials sat, came up to me, and telling methat they were reporters, specially sent over, one from Edinburgh, theother from Newcastle, begged me to give them a faithful and detailedaccount of my doings and experiences on the night of the murder--therewas already vast interest in this affair all over the country, theyaffirmed, and whatever I could or would tell them would make splendidreading and be printed in big type in their journals. But Mr. Lindsey, who was close by, seized my arm and steered me away from thesepersistent seekers after copy. 

"Not just now, my lads!" said he good-humouredly. "You've got plentyenough to go on with--you've heard plenty in there this morning to keepyour readers going for a bit. Not a word, Hugh! And as for you, gentlemen, if you want to do something towards clearing up this mystery, and assisting justice, there's something you can do--and nobody can doit better. "

"What's that?" asked one of them eagerly. 

"Ask through your columns for the relations, friends, acquaintances, anybody who knows them or aught about them, of these two men, JamesGilverthwaite and John Phillips, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "Noise it abroadas much as you like and can! If they've folk belonging to them, let themcome forward. For, " he went on, giving them a knowing look, "there's abigger mystery in this affair than any one of us has any conception of, and the more we can find out the sooner it'll be solved. And I'll saythis to you young fellows: the press can do more than the police. There'sa hint for you!"

Then he led me off, and we got into the trap in which he and I had drivenout from Berwick, and as soon as we had started homeward he fell into abrown study and continued in it until we were in sight of the town. 

"Hugh, my lad!" he suddenly exclaimed, at last starting out of hisreverie. "I'd give a good deal if I could see daylight in this affair!I've had two-and-twenty years' experience of the law, and I've known somequeer matters, and some dark matters, and some ugly matters in my time;but hang me if I ever knew one that promises to be as ugly and as darkand as queer as this does--that's a fact!"

"You're thinking it's all that, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked, knowing him as Idid to be an uncommonly sharp man. 

"I'm thinking there's more than meets the eye, " he answered. "Bloodymurder we know there is--maybe there'll be more, or maybe there has beenmore already. What was that deep old fish Gilverthwaite after? What tookplace between Phillips's walking out of that inn at Coldstream Bridge andyour finding of his body? Who met Phillips? Who did him to his death? Andwhat were the two of 'em after in this corner of the country? Blackmystery, my lad, on all hands!"

I made no answer just then. I was thinking, wondering if I should tellhim about my meeting with Sir Gilbert Carstairs at the cross-roads. Mr. Lindsey was just the man you could and would tell anything to, and itwould maybe have been best if I had told him of that matter there andthen. But there's a curious run of caution and reserve in our family. Igot it from both father and mother, and deepened it on my own account, and I could not bring myself to be incriminating and suspicioning a manwhose presence so near the place of the murder might be innocent enough. So I held my tongue. 

"I wonder will all the stuff in the newspapers bring any one forward?" hesaid, presently. "It ought to!--if there is anybody. "

Nothing, however, was heard by the police or by ourselves for the nextthree or four days; and then--I think it was the fourth day after theinquest--I looked up from my desk in Mr. Lindsey's outer office oneafternoon to see Maisie Dunlop coming in at the door, followed by anelderly woman, poorly but respectably dressed, a stranger. 

"Hugh, " said Maisie, coming up to my side, "your mother asked me to bringthis woman up to see Mr. Lindsey. She's just come in from the south, andshe says she's yon James Gilverthwaite's sister. "

CHAPTER IX

THE MARINE-STORE DEALER

Mr. Lindsey was standing just within his own room when Maisie and thestrange woman came into the office, and hearing what was said, he calledus all three to go into him. And, like myself, he looked at the womanwith a good deal of curiosity, wanting--as I did--to see some likeness tothe dead man. But there was no likeness to be seen, for whereasGilverthwaite was a big and stalwart fellow, this was a small and sparewoman, whose rusty black clothes made her look thinner and more meagrethan she really was. All the same, when she spoke I knew there was alikeness between them, for her speech was like his, different altogetherfrom ours of the Border. 

"So you believe you're the sister of this man James Gilverthwaite, ma'am?" began Mr. Lindsey, motioning the visitor to sit down, andbeckoning Maisie to stop with us. "What might your name be, now?"

"I believe this man that's talked about in the newspapers is my brother, sir, " answered the woman. "Else I shouldn't have taken the trouble tocome all this way. My name's Hanson--Mrs. Hanson. I come from Garston, near Liverpool. "

"Aye--just so--a Lancashire woman, " said Mr. Lindsey, nodding. "Yourname would be Gilverthwaite, then, before you were married?"

"To be sure, sir--same as James's, " she replied. "Him and me was theonly two there was. I've brought papers with me that'll prove what Isay. I went to a lawyer before ever I came, and he told me to come atonce, and to bring my marriage lines, and a copy of James's birthcertificate, and one or two other things of that sort. There's no doubtthat this man we've read about in the newspapers was my brother, and ofcourse I would like to put in my claim to what he's left--if he's leftit to nobody else. "

"Just so, " agreed Mr. Lindsey. "Aye--and how long is it since you lastsaw your brother, now?"

The woman shook her head as if this question presented difficulties. 

"I couldn't rightly say to a year or two, no, not even to a few years, "she answered. "And to the best of my belief, sir, it'll be a good thirtyyears, at the least. It was just after I was married to Hanson, and thatwas when I was about three-and-twenty, and I was fifty-six lastbirthday. James came--once--to see me and Hanson soon after we wassettled down, and I've never set eyes on him from that day to this. But--I should know him now. "

"He was buried yesterday, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. "It's a pity you didn'ttelegraph to some of us. "

"The lawyer I went to, sir, said, 'Go yourself!'" replied Mrs. Hanson. "So I set off--first thing this morning. "

"Let me have a look at those papers, " said Mr. Lindsey. 

He motioned me to his side, and together we looked through two or threedocuments which the woman produced. 

The most important was a certified copy of James Gilverthwaite's birthcertificate, which went to prove that this man had been born in Liverpoolabout sixty-two years previously; that, as Mr. Lindsey was quick to pointout, fitted in with what Gilverthwaite had told my mother and myselfabout his age. 

"Well, " he said, turning to Mrs. Hanson, "you can answer some questions, no doubt, about your brother, and about matters in relation to him. Firstof all, do you know if any of your folks hailed from this part?"

"Not that I ever heard of, sir, " she replied. "No, I'm sure theywouldn't. They were all Lancashire folks, on both sides. I know all aboutthem as far back as my great-grandfather's and great-grandmother's. "

"Do you know if your brother ever came to Berwick as a lad?" asked Mr. Lindsey, with a glance at me. 

"He might ha' done that, sir, " said Mrs. Hanson. "He was a great, masterful, strong lad, and he'd run off to sea by the time he was tenyears old--there'd been no doing aught with him for a couple of yearsbefore that. I knew that when he was about twelve or thirteen he was on acoasting steamer that used to go in and out of Sunderland and Newcastle, and he might have put in here. "

"To be sure, " said Mr. Lindsey. "But what's more important is to get onto his later history. You say you've never seen him for thirty years, ormore? But have you never heard of him?"

She nodded her head with decision at that question. 

"Yes, " she replied, "I have heard of him--just once. There was a man, aneighbour of ours, came home from Central America, maybe five years ago, and he told us he'd seen our James out there, and that he was working asa sub-contractor, or something of that sort, on that Panama Canal therewas so much talk about in them days. "

Mr. Lindsey and I looked at each other. Panama!--that was the passwordwhich James Gilverthwaite had given me. So--here, at any rate, wassomething, however little, that had the makings of a clue in it. 

"Aye!" he said, "Panama, now? He was there? And that's the last youever heard?"

"That's the very last we ever heard, sir, " she answered. "Till, ofcourse, we saw these pieces in the papers this last day or two. "

Mr. Lindsey twisted round on her with a sharp look. 

"Do you know aught of that man, John Phillips, whose name's in the paperstoo?" he asked. 

"No, sir, nothing!" she replied promptly. "Never heard tell of him!"

"And you've never heard of your brother's having been seen in Liverpoolof late?" he went on. "Never heard that he called to see any old friendsat all? For we know, as you have seen in the papers, Mrs. Hanson, that hewas certainly in Liverpool, and bought clothes and linen there, withinthis last three months. "

"He never came near me, sir, " she said. "And I never heard word of hisbeing there from anybody. "

There was a bit of a silence then, and at last the woman put the questionwhich, it was evident, she was anxious to have answered definitely. 

"Do you think there's a will, mister?" she asked. "For, if not, thelawyer I went to said what there was would come to me--and I coulddo with it. "

"We've seen nothing of any will, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "And I should saythere is none, and on satisfactory proof of your being next-of-kin, you'll get all he left. I've no doubt you're his sister, and I'll takethe responsibility of going through his effects with you. You'll bestopping in the town a day or two? Maybe your mother, Hugh, can find Mrs. Hanson a lodging?"

I answered that my mother would no doubt do what she could to look afterMrs. Hanson; and presently the woman went away with Maisie, leaving herpapers with Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me when we were alone. 

"Some folks would think that was a bit of help to me in solving themystery, Hugh, " said he; "but hang me if I don't think it makes the wholething more mysterious than ever! And do you know, my lad, where, in myopinion, the very beginning of it may have to be sought for?"

"I can't put a word to that, Mr. Lindsey, " I answered. "Where, sir?"

"Panama!" he exclaimed, with a jerk of his head. "Panama! just that! Itbegan a long way off--Panama, as far as I see it. And what did begin, andwhat was going on? The two men that knew, and could have told, are deadas door-nails--and both buried, for that matter. "

So, in spite of Mrs. Hanson's coming and her revelations as to some, atany rate, of James Gilverthwaite's history, we were just as wise as everat the end of the first week after the murder of John Phillips. And itwas just the eighth night after my finding of the body that I got intothe hands of Abel Crone. 

Abel Crone was a man that had come to Berwick about three years beforethis, from heaven only knows where, and had set himself up in business asa marine-store dealer, in a back street which ran down to the shore ofthe Tweed. He was a little red-haired, pale-eyed rat of a man, withferrety eyes and a goatee beard, quiet and peaceable in his ways andinoffensive enough, but a rare hand at gossiping about the beach and thewalls--you might find him at all odd hours either in these public placesor in the door of his shop, talking away with any idler like himself. Andhow I came to get into talk with him on that particular night was here:Tom Dunlop, Maisie's young brother, was for keeping tame rabbits justthen, and I was helping him to build hutches for the beasts in hisfather's back-yard, and we were wanting some bits of stuff, iron and wireand the like, and knowing I would pick it up for a few pence at Crone'sshop, I went round there alone. Before I knew how it came about, Cronewas deep into the murder business. 

"They'll not have found much out by this time, yon police fellows, nodoubt, Mr. Moneylaws?" he said, eyeing me inquisitively in the light ofthe one naphtha lamp that was spurting and jumping in his untidy shop. "They're a slow unoriginal lot, the police--there's no imagination intheir brains and no ingenuity in their minds. What's wanted in an affairlike this is one of those geniuses you read about in the storybooks--themen that can trace a murder from the way a man turns out his toes, or bythe fashion he's bitten into a bit of bread that he's left on his plate, or the like of that--something more than by ordinary, you'll understandme to mean, Mr. Moneylaws?"

"Maybe you'll be for taking a hand in this game yourself, Mr. Crone?"said I, thinking to joke with him. "You seem to have the right instinctfor it, anyway. "

"Aye, well, " he answered, "and I might be doing as well as anybody else, and no worse. You haven't thought of following anything up yourself, Mr. Moneylaws, I suppose?"

"Me!" I exclaimed. "What should I be following up, man? I know no morethan the mere surface facts of the affair. "

He gave a sharp glance at his open door when I thus answered him, andthe next instant he was close to me in the gloom and looking sharplyin my face. 

"Are you so sure of that, now?" he whispered cunningly. "Come now, I'llput a question to yourself, Mr. Moneylaws. What for did you not let on inyour evidence that you saw Sir Gilbert Carstairs at yon cross-roads justbefore you found the dead man? Come!"

You could have knocked me down with a feather, as the saying is, when hesaid that. And before I could recover from the surprise of it, he had ahand on my arm. 

"Come this way, " he said. "I'll have a word with you in private. "

CHAPTER X

THE OTHER WITNESS

It was with a thumping heart and nerves all a-tingle that I followed AbelCrone out of his front shop into a sort of office that he had at the backof it--a little, dirty hole of a place, in which there was a ramshackletable, a chair or two, a stand-up desk, a cupboard, and a variety of oddsand ends that he had picked up in his trade. The man's sudden revelationof knowledge had knocked all the confidence out of me. It had nevercrossed my mind that any living soul had a notion of my secret--forsecret, of course, it was, and one that I would not have trusted toCrone, of all men in the world, knowing him as I did to be such a one forgossip. And he had let this challenge out on me so sharply, catching meunawares that I was alone with him, and, as it were, at his mercy, beforeI could pull my wits together. Everything in me was confused. I wasthinking several things all at a time. How did he come to know? Had Ibeen watched? Had some person followed me out of Berwick that night? Wasthis part of the general mystery? And what was going to come of it, nowthat Abel Crone was aware that I knew something which, up to then, I hadkept back?

I stood helplessly staring at him as he turned up the wick of an oillamp that stood on a mantelpiece littered with a mess of small things, and he caught a sight of my face when there was more light, and as heshut the door on us he laughed--laughed as if he knew that he had me in atrap. And before he spoke again he went over to the cupboard and took outa bottle and glasses. 

"Will you taste?" he asked, leering at me. "A wee drop, now? It'll doyou good. "

"No!" said I. 

"Then I'll drink for the two of us, " he responded, and poured out ahalf-tumblerful of whisky, to which he added precious little water. "Here's to you, my lad; and may you have grace to take advantage ofyour chances!"

He winked over the rim of his glass as he took a big pull at itscontents, and there was something so villainous in the look of him thatit did me good in the way of steeling my nerves again. For I now sawthat here was an uncommonly bad man to deal with, and that I had best beon my guard. 

"Mr. Crone, " said I, gazing straight at him, "what's this you have tosay to me?"

"Sit you down, " he answered, pointing at a chair that was shoved underone side of the little table. "Pull that out and sit you down. What weshall have to say to each other'll not be said in five minutes. Let'sconfer in the proper and comfortable fashion. "

I did what he asked, and he took another chair himself and sat downopposite me, propping his elbow on the table and leaning across it, sothat, the table being but narrow, his sharp eyes and questioning lipswere closer to mine than I cared for. And while he leaned forward in hischair I sat back in mine, keeping as far from him as I could, and juststaring at him--perhaps as if I had been some trapped animal thatcouldn't get itself away from the eyes of another that meant presently tokill it. Once again I asked him what he wanted. 

"You didn't answer my question, " he said. "I'll put it again, and youneedn't be afraid that anybody'll overhear us in this place, it's safe! Isay once more, what for did you not tell in your evidence at that inquestthat you saw Sir Gilbert Carstairs at the cross-roads on the night of themurder! Um?"

"That's my business!" said I

"Just so, " said he. "And I'll agree with you in that. It is yourbusiness. But if by that you mean that it's yours alone, and nobodyelse's, then I don't agree. Neither would the police. "

We stared at each other across the table for a minute of silence, andthen I put the question directly to him that I had been wanting to putever since he had first spoken. And I put it crudely enough. 

"How did you know?" I asked. 

He laughed at that--sneeringly, of course. 

"Aye, that's plain enough, " said he. "No fencing about that! How did Iknow? Because when you saw Sir Gilbert I wasn't five feet away from you, and what you saw, I saw. I saw you both!"

"You were there?" I exclaimed. 

"Snug behind the hedge in front of which you planted yourself, " heanswered. "And if you want to know what I was doing there, I'll tell you. I was doing--or had been doing--a bit of poaching. And, as I say, whatyou saw, I saw!"

"Then I'll ask you a question, Mr. Crone, " I said. "Why haven't you told, yourself?"

"Aye!" he said. "You may well ask me that. But I wasn't called as awitness at yon inquest. "

"You could have come forward, " I suggested. 

"I didn't choose, " he retorted. 

We both looked at each other again, and while we looked he swigged offhis drink and helped himself, just as generously, to more. And, as I wasgetting bolder by that time, I set to work at questioning him. 

"You'll be attaching some importance to what you saw?" said I. 

"Well, " he replied slowly, "it's not a pleasant thing--for a man'ssafety--to be as near as what he was to a place where another man's justbeen done to his death. "

"You and I were near enough, anyway, " I remarked. 

"We know what we were there for, " he flung back at me. "We don't knowwhat he was there for. "

"Put your tongue to it, Mr. Crone, " I said boldly. "The fact is, yoususpicion him?"

"I suspicion a good deal, maybe, " he admitted. "After all, even a man ofthat degree's only a man, when all's said and done, and there might bereasons that you and me knows nothing about. Let me ask you a question, "he went on, edging nearer at me across the table. "Have you mentioned itto a soul?"

I made a mistake at that, but he was on me so sharp, and his manner wasso insistent, that I had the word out of my lips before I thought. 

"No!" I replied. "I haven't. "

"Nor me, " he said. "Nor me. So--you and me are the only two folkthat know. "

"Well?" I asked. 

He took another pull at his liquor and for a moment or two sat silent, tapping his finger-nails against the rim of the glass. 

"It's a queer business, Moneylaws, " he said at last. "Look at it anywayyou like, it's a queer business! Here's one man, yon lodger of yourmother's, comes into the town and goes round the neighbourhood readingthe old parish registers and asking questions at the parson's--aye, and he was at it both sides of the Tweed--I've found that much outfor myself! For what purpose? Is there money at the back ofit--property--something of that sort, dependent on this Gilverthwaiteunearthing some facts or other out of those old books? And then comesanother man, a stranger, that's as mysterious in his movements asGilverthwaite was, and he's to meet Gilverthwaite at a certain lonelyspot, and at a very strange hour, and Gilverthwaite can't go, and he getsyou to go, and you find the man--murdered! And--close by--you've seenthis other man, who, between you and me--though it's no secret--is asmuch a stranger to the neighbourhood as ever Gilverthwaite was orPhillips was!"

"I don't follow you at that, " I said. 

"No?" said he. "Then I'll make it plainer to you. Do you know that untilyon Sir Gilbert Carstairs came here, not so long since, to take up histitle and his house and the estate, he'd never set foot in the place, never been near the place, this thirty year? Man! his own father, oldSir Alec, and his own sister, Mrs. Ralston of Craig, had never clappedeyes on him since he went away from Hathercleugh a youngster ofone-and-twenty!"

"Do you tell me that, Mr. Crone?" I exclaimed, much surprised at hiswords. "I didn't know so much. Where had he been, then?"

"God knows!" said he. "And himself. It was said he was a doctor inLondon, and in foreign parts. Him and his brother--elder brother, you'reaware, Mr. Michael--they both quarrelled with the old baronet when theywere little more than lads, and out they cleared, going their own ways. And news of Michael's death, and the proofs of it, came home not so longbefore old Sir Alec died, and as Michael had never married, of course theyounger brother succeeded when his father came to his end last winter. And, as I say, who knows anything about his past doings when he was awaymore than thirty years, nor what company he kept, nor what secrets hehas? Do you follow me?"

"Aye, I'm following you, Mr. Crone, " I answered. "It comes to this--yoususpect Sir Gilbert?"

"What I say, " he answered, "is this: he may have had something to dowith the affair. You cannot tell. But you and me knows he was near theplace--coming from its direction--at the time the murder would be in thedoing. And--there is nobody knows but you--and me!"

"What are you going to do about it?" I asked. 

He had another period of reflection before he replied, and when he spokeit was to the accompaniment of a warning look. 

"It's an ill-advised thing to talk about rich men, " said he. "Yon man notonly has money of his own, in what you might call considerable quantity, but his wife he brought with him is a woman of vast wealth, they tell me. It would be no very wise action on your part to set rumours going, Moneylaws, unless you could substantiate them. "

"What about yourself?" I asked. "You know as much as I do. "

"Aye, and there's one word that sums all up, " said he. "And it's a shortone. Wait! There'll be more coming out. Keep your counsel a bit. And whenthe moment comes, and if the moment comes--why, you know there's mebehind you to corroborate. And--that's all!"

He got up then, with a nod, as if to show that the interview was over, and I was that glad to get away from him that I walked off withoutanother word. 

CHAPTER XI

SIGNATURES TO THE WILL

I was so knocked out of the usual run of things by this conversation withCrone that I went away forgetting the bits of stuff I had bought for TomDunlop's rabbit-hutches and Tom himself, and, for that matter, Maisie aswell; and, instead of going back to Dunlop's, I turned down theriverside, thinking. It was beyond me at that moment to get a clearunderstanding of the new situation. I could not make out what Crone wasat. Clearly, he had strong suspicions that Sir Gilbert Carstairs hadsomething to do with, or some knowledge of, the murder of Phillips, andhe knew now that there were two of us to bear out each other's testimonythat Sir Gilbert was near the scene of the murder at the time it wascommitted. Why, then, should he counsel waiting? Why should not the twoof us go to the police and tell what we knew? What was it that Croneadvised we should wait for? Was something going on, some inquiry beingmade in the background of things, of which he knew and would not tell me?And--this, I think, was what was chiefly in my thoughts--was Croneplaying some game of his own and designing to use me as a puppet in it?For there was a general atmosphere of subtlety and slyness about the manthat forced itself upon me, young as I was; and the way he kept eyeing meas we talked made me feel that I had to do with one that would be hard tocircumvent if it came to a matter of craftiness. And at last, after a lotof thinking, as I walked about in the dusk, it struck me that Crone mightbe for taking a hand in the game of which I had heard, but had never seenplayed--blackmail. 

The more I thought over that idea, the more I felt certain of it. Hishints about Sir Gilbert's money and his wealthy wife, his advice to waituntil we knew more, all seemed to point to this--that evidence mightcome out which would but require our joint testimony, Crone's and mine, to make it complete. If that were so, then, of course, Crone or I, or--as he probably designed--the two of us, would be in a position to goto Sir Gilbert Carstairs and tell him what we knew, and ask him how muchhe would give us to hold our tongues. I saw all the theory of it atlast, clear enough, and it was just what I would have expected of AbelCrone, knowing him even as little as I did. Wait until we were sure--andthen strike! That was his game. And I was not going to have anything todo with it. 

I went home to my bed resolved on that. I had heard of blackmailing, andhad a good notion of its wickedness--and of its danger--and I was nottaking shares with Crone in any venture of that sort. But there Cronewas, an actual, concrete fact that I had got to deal with, and to come tosome terms with, simply because he knew that I was in possession ofknowledge which, to be sure, I ought to have communicated to the policeat once. And I was awake much during the night, thinking matters over, and by the time I rose in the morning I had come to a decision. I wouldsee Crone at once, and give him a sort of an ultimatum. Let him come, there and then, with me to Mr. Murray, and let the two of us tell what weknew and be done with it: if not, then I myself would go straight to Mr. Lindsey and tell him. 

I set out for the office earlier than usual that morning, and went roundby way of the back street at the bottom of which Crone's store stoodfacing the river. I sometimes walked round that way of a morning, and Iknew that Crone was as a rule at his place very early, amongst his oldrubbish, or at his favourite game of gossiping with the fishermen thathad their boats drawn up there. But when I reached it, the shop was stillshut, and though I waited as long as I could, Crone did not come. I knewwhere he lived, at the top end of the town, and I thought to meet him asI walked up to Mr. Lindsey's; but I had seen nothing of him by the time Ireached our office door, so I laid the matter aside until noon, meaningto get a word with him when I went home to my dinner. And though I couldhave done so there and then, I determined not to say anything to Mr. Lindsey until I had given Crone the chance of saying it with me--to him, or to the police. I expected, of course, that Crone would fly into a rageat my suggestion--if so, then I would tell him, straight out, that Iwould just take my own way, and take it at once. 

But before noon there was another development in this affair. In thecourse of the morning Mr. Lindsey bade me go with him down to mymother's house, where Mrs. Hanson had been lodged for the night--wewould go through Gilverthwaite's effects with her, he said, with a viewto doing what we could to put her in possession. It might--probablywould--be a lengthy and a difficult business that, he remarked, seeingthat there was so much that was dark about her brother's recentmovements; and as the woman was obviously poor, we had best be stirringon her behalf. So down we went, and in my mother's front parlour, thesame that Gilverthwaite had taken as his sitting-room, Mr. Lindseyopened the heavy box for the second time, in Mrs. Hanson's presence, andI began to make a list of its contents. At the sight of the money itcontained, the woman began to tremble. 

"Eh, mister!" she exclaimed, almost tearfully, "but that's a sight ofmoney to be lying there, doing naught! I hope there'll be some way ofbringing it to me and mine--we could do with it, I promise you!"

"We'll do our best, ma'am, " said Mr. Lindsey. "As you're next of kinthere oughtn't to be much difficulty, and I'll hurry matters up for youas quickly as possible. What I want this morning is for you to see allthere is in this chest; he seems to have had no other belongings thanthis and his clothes--here at Mrs. Moneylaws', at any rate. And as yousee, beyond the money, there's little else in the chest but cigars, andbox after box of curiosities that he's evidently picked up in histravels--coins, shells, ornaments, all sorts of queer things--some of 'emno doubt of value. But no papers--no letters--no documents of any sort. "

A notion suddenly occurred to me. 

"Mr. Lindsey, " said I, "you never turned out the contents of any ofthese smaller boxes the other night. There might be papers in one orother of them. "

"Good notion, Hugh, my lad!" he exclaimed. "True--there might. Here goes, then--we'll look through them systematically. "

In addition to the half-dozen boxes full of prime Havana cigars, whichlay at the top of the chest, there were quite a dozen of similar boxes, emptied of cigars and literally packed full of the curiosities of whichMr. Lindsey had just spoken. He had turned out, and carefully replaced, the contents of three or four of these, when, at the bottom of one, filled with old coins, which, he said, were Mexican and Peruvian, andprobably of great interest to collectors, he came across a paper, foldedand endorsed in bold letters. And he let out an exclamation as he tookthis paper out and pointed us to the endorsement. 

"Do you see that?" said he. "It's the man's will!"

The endorsement was plain enough--My will: _James Gilverthwaite_. Andbeneath it was a date, 27-8-1904. 

There was a dead silence amongst the four of us--my mother had been withus all the time--as Mr. Lindsey unfolded the paper--a thick, half-sheetof foolscap, and read what was written on it. 

"This is the last will and testament of me, James Gilverthwaite, aBritish subject, born at Liverpool, and formerly of Garston, inLancashire, England, now residing temporarily at Colon, in the Republicof Panama. I devise and bequeath all my estate and effects, real andpersonal, which I may be possessed of or entitled to, unto my sister, Sarah Ellen Hanson, the wife of Matthew Hanson, of 37 Preston Street, Garston, Lancashire, England, absolutely, and failing her to any childrenshe may have had by her marriage with Matthew Hanson, in equal shares. And I appoint the said Sarah Ellen Hanson, or in the case of her death, her eldest child, the executor of this my will; and I revoke all formerwills. Dated this twenty-seventh day of August, 1904. _JamesGilverthwaite_. Signed by the testator in the presence of us--"

Mr. Lindsey suddenly broke off. And I, looking at him, saw his eyes screwthemselves up with sheer wonder at something he saw. Without another wordhe folded up the paper, put it in his pocket, and turning to Mrs. Hanson, clapped her on the shoulder. 

"That's all right, ma'am!" he said heartily. "That's a good will, dulysigned and attested, and there'll be no difficulty about getting itadmitted to probate; leave it to me, and I'll see to it, and get itthrough for you as soon as ever I can. And we must do what's possible tofind out if this brother of yours has left any other property; andmeanwhile we'll just lock everything up again that we've taken out ofthis chest. "

It was close on my dinner hour when we had finished, but Mr. Lindsey, athis going, motioned me out into the street with him. In a quiet corner, he turned to me and pulled the will from his pocket. 

"Hugh!" he said. "Do you know who's one of the witnesses to this will?Aye, who are the two witnesses? Man!--you could have knocked me down witha feather when I saw the names! Look for yourself!"

He handed me the paper and pointed to the attestation clause with whichit ended. And I saw the two names at once--John Phillips, MichaelCarstairs--and I let out a cry of astonishment. 

"Aye, you may well exclaim!" said he, taking the will back. "JohnPhillips!--that's the man was murdered the other night! MichaelCarstairs--that's the elder brother of Sir Gilbert yonder atHathercleugh, the man that would have succeeded to the title and estatesif he hadn't predeceased old Sir Alexander. What would he be doing now, afriend of Gilverthwaite's?"

"I've heard that this Mr. Michael Carstairs went abroad as a young man, Mr. Lindsey, and never came home again, " I remarked. "Likely heforegathered with Gilverthwaite out yonder. "

"Just that, " he agreed. "That would be the way of it, no doubt. To besure! He's set down in this attestation clause as Michael Carstairs, engineer, American Quarter, Colon; and John Phillips is described assub-contractor, of the same address. The three of 'em'll have beenworking in connection with the Panama Canal. But--God bless us!--there'ssome queer facts coming out, my lad! Michael Carstairs knowsGilverthwaite and Phillips in yon corner of the world--Phillips andGilverthwaite, when Michael Carstairs is dead, come home to the corner ofthe world that Michael Carstairs sprang from. And Phillips is murdered assoon as he gets here--and Gilverthwaite dies that suddenly that he can'ttell us a word of what it's all about! What is it all about--and who'sgoing to piece it all together? Man!--there's more than murder at thebottom of all this!"

It's a wonder that I didn't let out everything that I knew at thatminute. And it may have been on the tip of my tongue, but just then hegave me a push towards our door. 

"I heard your mother say your dinner was waiting you, " he said. "Go in, now; we'll talk more this afternoon. "

He strode off up the street, and I turned back and made haste with mydinner. I wanted to drop in at Crone's before I went again to the office:what had just happened, had made me resolved that Crone and I shouldspeak out; and if he wouldn't, then I would. And presently I was hurryingaway to his place, and as I turned into the back lane that led to it Iran up against Sergeant Chisholm. 

"Here's another fine to-do, Mr. Moneylaws!" said he. "You'll know yonAbel Crone, the marine-store dealer? Aye, well, he's been found drowned, not an hour ago, and by this and that, there's queer marks, that lookslike violence, on him!"

CHAPTER XII

THE SALMON GAFF

I gave such a jump on hearing this that Chisholm himself started, andhe stared at me with a question in his eyes. But I was quick enough tolet him know that he was giving me news that I hadn't heard until heopened his lips. 

"You don't tell me that!" I exclaimed. "What!--more of it?"

"Aye!" he said. "You'll be thinking that this is all of a piece with theother affair. And to be sure, they found Crone's body close by where youfound yon other man--Phillips. "

"Where, then?" I asked. "And when?"

"I tell you, not an hour ago, " he replied. "The news just came in. I wasgoing down here to see if any of the neighbours at the shop saw Crone inany strange company last night. "

I hesitated for a second or two, and then spoke out. 

"I saw him myself last night, " said I. "I went to his shop--maybe it wasnine o'clock--to buy some bits of stuff to make Tom Dunlop a door to hisrabbit-hutch, and I was there talking to him ten minutes or so. He wasall right then--and I saw nobody else with him. "

"Aye, well, he never went home to his house last night, " observedChisholm. "I called in there on my way down--he lived, you know, in acottage by the police-station, and I dropped in and asked the woman thatkeeps house for him had she seen him this morning, and she said he nevercame home last night at all. And no wonder--as things are!"

"But you were saying where it happened, " I said. 

"Where he was found?" said he. "Well, and it was where Till runs intoTweed--leastways, a bit up the Till. Do you know John McIlwraith'slad--yon youngster that they've had such a bother with about theschool--always running away to his play, and stopping out at nights, andthe like--there was the question of sending him to a reformatory, you'llremember? Aye, well, it turns out the young waster was out last night inthose woods below Twizel, and early this morning--though he didn't let onat it till some time after--he saw the body of a man lying in one of themdeep pools in Till. And when he himself was caught by Turndale, who wason the look out for him, he told of what he'd seen, and Turndale and someother men went there, and they found--Crone!"

"You were saying there were marks of violence, " said I. 

"I haven't seen them myself, " he answered. "But by Turndale's account--itwas him brought in the news--there is queer marks on the body. Like asif--as near as Turndale could describe it--as if the man had been struckdown before he was drowned. Bruises, you understand. "

"Where is he?" I asked. 

"He's where they took Phillips, " replied Chisholm. "Dod!--that's two of'em that's been taken there within--aye, nearly within the week!"

"What are you going to do, now?" I inquired. 

"I was just going, as I said, to ask a question or two down here--didanybody hear Crone say anything last night about going out that way?" heanswered. "But, there, I don't see the good of it. Between you and me, Crone was a bit of a night-bird--I've suspected him of poaching, time andagain. Well, he'll do no more of that! You'll be on your way to theoffice, likely?"

"Straight there, " said I. "I'll tell Mr. Lindsey of this. "

But when I reached the office, Mr. Lindsey, who had been out to get hislunch, knew all about it. He was standing outside the door, talking toMr. Murray, and as I went up the superintendent turned away to the policestation, and Mr. Lindsey took a step or two towards me. 

"Have you heard this about that man Crone?" he asked. 

"I've heard just now, " I answered. "Chisholm told me. "

He looked at me, and I at him; there were questions in the eyes of bothof us. But between parting from the police-sergeant and meeting Mr. Lindsey, I had made up my mind, by a bit of sharp thinking andreflection, on what my own plan of action was going to be about all this, once and for all, and I spoke before he could ask anything. 

"Chisholm, " said I, "was down that way, wondering could he hear word ofCrone's being seen with anybody last night. I saw Crone last night. Iwent to his shop, buying some bits of old stuff. He was all right then--Isaw nothing. Chisholm--he says Crone was a poacher. That would account, likely, for his being out there. "

"Aye!" said Mr. Lindsey. "But--they say there's marks of violence on thebody. And--the long and short of it is, my lad!" he went on, firstinterrupting himself, and then giving me an odd look; "the long and shortof it is, it's a queer thing that Crone should have come by his deathclose to the spot where you found yon man Phillips! There may be nothingbut coincidence in it--but there's no denying it's a queer thing. Go andorder a conveyance, and we'll drive out yonder. "

In pursuance of the determination I had come to, I said no more aboutCrone to Mr. Lindsey. I had made up my mind on a certain course, anduntil it was taken I could not let out a word of what was by that timenobody's secret but mine to him, nor to any one--not even to MaisieDunlop, to whom, purposely, I had not as yet said anything about myseeing Sir Gilbert Carstairs on the night of Phillips's murder. And allthe way out to the inn there was silence between Mr. Lindsey and me, andthe event of the morning, about Gilverthwaite's will, and the oddcircumstance of its attestation by Michael Carstairs, was not oncementioned. We kept silence, indeed, until we were in the place to whichthey had carried Crone's dead body. Mr. Murray and Sergeant Chisholm hadgot there before us, and with them was a doctor--the same that had beenfetched to Phillips--and they were all talking together quietly when wewent in. The superintendent came up to Mr. Lindsey. 

"According to what the doctor here says, " he whispered, jerking his headat the body, which lay on a table with a sheet thrown over it, "there's aquestion as to whether the man met his death by drowning. Look here!"

He led us up to the table, drew back the sheet from the head and face, and motioning the doctor to come up, pointed to a mark that was justbetween the left temple and the top of the ear, where the hair waswearing thin. 

"D'ye see that, now?" he murmured. "You'll notice there's some sort of aweapon penetrated there--penetrated! But the doctor can say more than Ican on that point. "

"The man was struck--felled--by some sort of a weapon, " said the doctor. "It's penetrated, I should say from mere superficial examination, to thebrain. You'll observe there's a bruise outwardly--aye, but this has beena sharp weapon as well, something with a point, and there's thepuncture--how far it may extend I can't tell yet. But on the surface ofthings, Mr. Lindsey, I should incline to the opinion that the poorfellow was dead, or dying, when he was thrown into yon pool. Anyway, after a blow like that, he'd be unconscious. But I'm thinking he was deadbefore the water closed on him. "

Mr. Lindsey looked closer at the mark, and at the hole in thecentre of it. 

"Has it struck any of you how that could be caused?" he asked suddenly. "It hasn't? Then I'll suggest something to you. There's an implement inpretty constant use hereabouts that would do just that--a salmon gaff!"

The two police officials started--the doctor nodded his head. 

"Aye, and that's a sensible remark, " said he. "A salmon gaff would justdo it. " He turned to Chisholm with a sharp look. "You were saying thisman was suspected of poaching?" he asked. "Likely it'll have been somepoaching affair he was after last night--him and others. And they mayhave quarrelled and come to blows--and there you are!"

"Were there any signs of an affray close by--or near, on the bank?" askedMr. Lindsey. 

"We're going down there now ourselves to have a look round, " answered Mr. Murray. "But according to Turndale, the body was lying in a deep pool inthe Till, under the trees on the bank--it might have lain there for manya month if it hadn't been for yon young McIlwraith that has a turn forprying into dark and out-of-the-way corners. Well, here's more matter forthe coroner. "

Mr. Lindsey and I went back to Berwick after that. And, once more, hesaid little on the journey, except that it would be well if it came outthat this was but a poaching affair in which Crone had got across withsome companion of his; and for the rest of the afternoon he made nofurther remark to me about the matter, nor about the discovery of themorning. But as I was leaving the office at night, he gave me a word. 

"Say nothing about that will, to anybody, " said he. "I'll think thatmatter over to-night, and see what'll come of my thinking. It's as I saidbefore, Hugh--to get at the bottom of all this, we'll have to goback--maybe a far way. "

I said nothing and went home. For now I had work of my own--I was goingto what I had resolved on after Chisholm told me the news about Crone. Iwould not tell my secret to Mr. Lindsey, nor to the police, nor even toMaisie. I would go straight and tell it to the one man whom itconcerned--Sir Gilbert Carstairs. I would speak plainly to him, and bedone with it. And as soon as I had eaten my supper, I mounted my bicycle, and, as the dusk was coming on, rode off to Hathercleugh House. 

CHAPTER XIII

SIR GILBERT CARSTAIRS

It was probably with a notion of justifying my present course ofprocedure to myself that during that ride I went over the reasons whichhad kept my tongue quiet up to that time, and now led me to go to SirGilbert Carstairs. Why I had not told the police nor Mr. Lindsey of whatI had seen, I have already explained--my own natural caution and reservemade me afraid of saying anything that might cast suspicion on aninnocent man; and also I wanted to await developments. I was notconcerned much with that feature of the matter. But I had undergone somequalms because I had not told Maisie Dunlop, for ever since the time atwhich she and I had come to a serious and sober understanding, it hadbeen a settled thing between us that we would never have any secrets fromeach other. Why, then, had I not told her of this? That took a lot ofexplaining afterwards, when things so turned out that it would have beenthe best thing ever I did in my life if I only had confided in her; butthis explanation was, after all, to my credit--I did not tell Maisiebecause I knew that, taking all the circumstances into consideration, shewould fill herself with doubts and fears for me, and would for ever beliving in an atmosphere of dread lest I, like Phillips, should be foundwith a knife-thrust in me. So much for that--it was in Maisie's owninterest. And why, after keeping silence to everybody, did I decide tobreak it to Sir Gilbert Carstairs? There, Andrew Dunlop came in--ofcourse, unawares to himself. For in those lecturings that he was so fondof giving us young folk, there was a moral precept of his kept croppingup which he seemed to set great store by--"If you've anything against aman, or reason to mistrust him, " he would say, "don't keep it toyourself, or hint it to other people behind his back, but go straight tohim and tell him to his face, and have it out with him. " He was a wiseman, Andrew Dunlop, as all his acquaintance knew, and I felt that I coulddo no better than take a lesson from him in this matter. So I would gostraight to Sir Gilbert Carstairs, and tell him what was in my mind--letthe consequences be what they might. 

It was well after sunset, and the gloaming was over the hills and theriver, when I turned into the grounds of Hathercleugh and looked round meat a place which, though I had lived close to it ever since I was born, Ihad never set foot in before. The house stood on a plateau of ground highabove Tweed, with a deep shawl of wood behind it and a fringe ofplantations on either side; house and pleasure-grounds were enclosed by ahigh ivied wall on all sides--you could see little of either until youwere within the gates. It looked, in that evening light, a romantic andpicturesque old spot and one in which you might well expect to seeghosts, or fairies, or the like. The house itself was something betweenan eighteenth-century mansion and an old Border fortress; its centre partwas very high in the roof, and had turrets, with outer stairs to them, atthe corners; the parapets were embattled, and in the turrets werearrow-slits. But romantic as the place was, there was nothing gloomyabout it, and as I passed to the front, between the grey walls and a sunkbalustered garden that lay at the foot of a terrace, I heard through theopen windows of one brilliantly lighted room the click of billiard ballsand the sound of men's light-hearted laughter, and through another thenotes of a piano. 

There was a grand butler man met me at the hall door, and looked sourlyat me as I leaned my bicycle against one of the pillars and made up tohim. He was sourer still when I asked to see his master, and he shook hishead at me, looking me up and down as if I were some undesirable. 

"You can't see Sir Gilbert at this time of the evening, " said he. "Whatdo you want?"

"Will you tell Sir Gilbert that Mr. Moneylaws, clerk to Mr. Lindsey, solicitor, wishes to see him on important business?" I answered, lookinghim hard in the face. "I think he'll be quick to see me when you give himthat message. "

He stared and growled at me a second or two before he went off with anill grace, leaving me on the steps. But, as I had expected, he was backalmost at once, and beckoning me to enter and follow him. And follow himI did, past more flunkeys who stared at me as if I had come to steal thesilver, and through soft-carpeted passages, to a room into which he ledme with small politeness. 

"You're to sit down and wait, " he said gruffly. "Sir Gilbert will attendto you presently. "

He closed the door on me, and I sat down and looked around. I was in asmall room that was filled with books from floor to ceiling--big booksand little, in fine leather bindings, and the gilt of their letteringsand labels shining in the rays of a tall lamp that stood on a big desk inthe centre. It was a fine room that, with everything luxurious in the wayof furnishing and appointments; you could have sunk your feet in thewarmth of the carpets and rugs, and there were things in it for comfortand convenience that I had never heard tell of. I had never been in arich man's house before, and the grandeur of it, and the idea that itgave one of wealth, made me feel that there's a vast gulf fixed betweenthem that have and them that have not. And in the middle of thesephilosophies the door suddenly opened, and in walked Sir GilbertCarstairs, and I stood up and made my politest bow to him. He noddedaffably enough, and he laughed as he nodded. 

"Oh!" said he. "Mr. Moneylaws! I've seen you before--at that inquest theother day, I think. Didn't I?"

"That is so, Sir Gilbert, " I answered. "I was there, with Mr. Lindsey. "

"Why, of course, and you gave evidence, " he said. "I remember. Well, andwhat did you want to see me about, Mr. Moneylaws? Will you smoke acigar?" he went on, picking up a box from the table and holding it out tome. "Help yourself. "

"Thank you, Sir Gilbert, " I answered, "but I haven't started that yet. "

"Well, then, I will, " he laughed, and he picked out a cigar, lighted it, and flinging himself into an easy chair, motioned me to take anotherexactly opposite to him. "Now, then, fire away!" he said. "Nobody'llinterrupt us, and my time's yours. You've some message for me?"

I took a good look at him before I spoke. He was a big, fine, handsomeman, some five-and-fifty years of age, I should have said, but uncommonlywell preserved--a clean-shaven, powerful-faced man, with quick eyes and avery alert glance; maybe, if there was anything struck me particularlyabout him, it was the rapidity and watchfulness of his glances, thedetermination in his square jaw, and the extraordinary strength andwhiteness of his teeth. He was quick at smiling, and quick, too, in theuse of his hands, which were always moving as he spoke, as if toemphasize whatever he said. And he made a very fine and elegant figure ashe sat there in his grand evening clothes, and I was puzzled to knowwhich struck me most--the fact that he was what he was, the seventhbaronet and head of an old family, or the familiar, easy, good-naturedfashion which he treated me, and talked to me, as if I had been a man ofhis own rank. 

I had determined what to do as I sat waiting him; and now that he hadbidden me to speak, I told him the whole story from start to finish, beginning with Gilverthwaite and ending with Crone, and sparing no detailor explanation of my own conduct. He listened in silence, and with moreintentness and watchfulness than I had ever seen a man show in my life, and now and then he nodded and sometimes smiled; and when I had made anend he put a sharp question. 

"So--beyond Crone--who, I hear, is dead--you've never told a living soulof this?" he asked, eyeing me closely. 

"Not one, Sir Gilbert, " I assured him. "Not even--"

"Not even--who?" he inquired quickly. 

"Not even my own sweetheart, " I said. "And it's the first secret ever Ikept from her. "

He smiled at that, and gave me a quick look as if he were trying to get afuller idea of me. 

"Well, " he said, "and you did right. Not that I should care two pins, Mr. Moneylaws, if you'd told all this out at the inquest. But suspicion iseasily aroused, and it spreads--aye, like wildfire! And I'm a stranger, as it were, in this country, so far, and there's people might thinkthings that I wouldn't have them think, and--in short, I'm much obligedto you. And I'll tell you frankly, as you've been frank with me, how Icame to be at those cross-roads at that particular time and on thatparticular night. It's a simple explanation, and could be easilycorroborated, if need be. I suffer from a disturbing form ofinsomnia--sleeplessness--it's a custom of mine to go long walks late atnight. Since I came here, I've been out that way almost every night, asmy servants could assure you. I walk, as a rule, from nine o'clock totwelve--to induce sleep. And on that night I'd been miles and miles outtowards Yetholm, and back; and when you saw me with my map and electrictorch, I was looking for the nearest turn home--I'm not too wellacquainted with the Border yet, " he concluded, with a flash of his whiteteeth, "and I have to carry a map with me. And--that's how it was; andthat's all. "

I rose out of my chair at that. He spoke so readily and ingenuously thatI had no more doubt of the truth of what he was saying than I had of myown existence. 

"Then it's all for me, too, Sir Gilbert, " said I. "I shan't say a wordmore of the matter to anybody. It's--as if it never existed. I wasthinking all the time there'd be an explanation of it. So I'll be biddingyou good-night. "

"Sit you down again a minute, " said he, pointing to the easy-chair. "Noneed for hurry. You're a clerk to Mr. Lindsey, the solicitor?"

"I am that, " I answered. 

"Are you articled to him?" he asked. 

"No, " said I. "I'm an ordinary clerk--of seven years' standing. "

"Plenty of experience of office work and routine?" he inquired. 

"Aye!" I replied. "No end of that, Sir Gilbert!"

"Are you good at figures and accounts?" he asked. 

"I've kept all Mr. Lindsey's--and a good many trust accounts--for thelast five years, " I answered, wondering what all this was about. 

"In fact, you're thoroughly well up in all clerical matters?" hesuggested. "Keeping books, writing letters, all that sort of thing?"

"I can honestly say I'm a past master in everything of that sort, "I affirmed. 

He gave me a quick glance, as if he were sizing me up altogether. 

"Well, I'll tell you what, Mr. Moneylaws, " he said. "The fact is, I'mwanting a sort of steward, and it strikes me that you're just the man I'mlooking for!"

CHAPTER XIV

DEAD MAN'S MONEY

I was so much amazed by this extraordinary suggestion, that for themoment I could only stand staring at him, and before I could find mytongue he threw a quick question at me. 

"Lindsey wouldn't stand in your way, would he?" he asked. "Such jobsdon't go begging, you know. "

"Mr. Lindsey wouldn't stand in my way, Sir Gilbert, " I answered. "But--"

"But what?" said he, seeing me hesitate. "Is it a post you wouldn't careabout, then? There's five hundred a year with it--and a permanency. "

Strange as it may seem, considering all the circumstances, it neveroccurred to me for one moment that the man was buying my silence, buyingme. There wasn't the ghost of such a thought in my head--I let out whatwas there in my next words. 

"I'd like such a post fine, Sir Gilbert, " I said. "What I'm thinkingof--could I give satisfaction?"

He laughed at that, as if my answer amused him. 

"Well, there's nothing like a spice of modesty, Moneylaws, " said he. "Ifyou can do all we've just talked of, you'll satisfy me well enough. Ilike the looks of you, and I'm sure you're the sort that'll do the thingthoroughly. The post's at your disposal, if you like to take it. "

I was still struggling with my amazement. Five hundred pounds ayear!--and a permanency! It seemed a fortune to a lad of my age. And Iwas trying to find the right words in which to say all that I felt, whenhe spoke again. 

"Look here!" he said. "Don't let us arrange this as if we'd done itbehind your present employer's back--I wouldn't like Mr. Lindsey to thinkI'd gone behind him to get you. Let it be done this way: I'll call on Mr. Lindsey myself, and tell him I'm wanting a steward for the property, andthat I've heard good reports of his clerk, and that I'll engage you onhis recommendation. He's the sort that would give you a strong word byway of reference, eh?"

"Oh, he'll do that, Sir Gilbert!" I exclaimed. "Anything that'llhelp me on--"

"Then let's leave it at that, " said he. "I'll drop in on him at hisoffice--perhaps to-morrow. In the meantime, keep your own counsel. But--you'll take my offer?"

"I'd be proud and glad to, Sir Gilbert, " said I. "And if you'll makeallowance for a bit of inexperience--"

"You'll do your best, eh?" he laughed. "That's all right, Moneylaws. "

He walked out with me to the door, and on to the terrace. And as Iwheeled my bicycle away from the porch, he took a step or two alongsideme, his hands in his pockets, his lips humming a careless tune. Andsuddenly he turned on me. 

"Have you heard any more about that affair last night?" he asked. "I meanabout Crone?"

"Nothing, Sir Gilbert, " I answered. 

"I hear that the opinion is that the man was struck down by a gaff, " heremarked. "And perhaps killed before he was thrown into the Till. "

"So the doctor seemed to think, " I said. "And the police, too, Ibelieve. "

"Aye, well, " said he, "I don't know if the police are aware of it, butI'm very sure there's night-poaching of salmon going on hereabouts, Moneylaws. I've fancied it for some time, and I've had thoughts oftalking to the police about it. But you see, my land doesn't touch eitherTill or Tweed, so I haven't cared to interfere. But I'm sure that it isso, and it wouldn't surprise me if both these men, Crone and Phillips, met their deaths at the hands of the gang I'm thinking of. It's a notionthat's worth following up, anyway, and I'll have a word with Murray aboutit when I'm in the town tomorrow. "

Then, with a brief good night, he left me and went into the house, and Igot outside Hathercleugh and rode home in a whirl of thoughts. And I'llconfess readily that those thoughts had little to do with what SirGilbert Carstairs had last talked about--they were not so much ofPhillips, nor of Crone, nor of his suggestion of a possible gang ofnight-poachers, as about myself and this sudden chance of a great changein my fortunes. For, when all is said and done, we must needs look afterourselves, and when a young man of the age I was then arrived at is askedif he would like to exchange a clerkship of a hundred and twenty a yearfor a stewardship at more than four times as much--as a permanency--youmust agree that his mind will fix itself on what such an exchange meansto him, to the exclusion of all other affairs. Five hundred a year to memeant all sorts of fine things--independence, and a house of my own, and, not least by a long way, marriage with Maisie Dunlop. And it was a wonderthat I managed to keep cool, and to hold my tongue when I got home--buthold it I did, and to some purpose, and more than once. During the halfhour which I managed to get with Maisie last thing that night, she askedme why I was so silent, and, hard though it was to keep from doing so, Ilet nothing out. 

The truth was, Sir Gilbert Carstairs had fascinated me, not only with hisgrand offer, but with his pleasant, off-hand, companionable manners. Hehad put me at my ease at once; he had spoken so frankly and with suchevident sincerity about his doings on that eventful night, that Iaccepted every word he said. And--in the little that I had thought ofit--I was very ready to accept his theory as to how those two men hadcome by their deaths--and it was one that was certainly feasible, andworth following up. Some years before, I remembered, something of thesame sort had gone on, and had resulted in an affray betweensalmon-poachers and river-watchers--why should it not have cropped upagain? The more I thought of it, the more I felt Sir Gilbert'ssuggestion to have reason in it. And in that case all the mystery wouldbe knocked clean out of these affairs--the murder of Phillips, the deathof Crone, might prove to be the outcome of some vulgar encounter betweenthem and desperadoes who had subsequently scuttled to safety and weredoubtless quaking near at hand, in fear of their misdeeds coming tolight; what appeared to be a perfect tangle might be the simplest matterin the world. So I judged--and next morning there came news that seemedto indicate that matters were going to be explained on the lines whichSir Gilbert had suggested. 

Chisholm brought that news to our office, just after Mr. Lindsey had comein. He told it to both of us; and from his manner of telling it, we bothsaw--I, perhaps, not so clearly as Mr. Lindsey--that the police werealready at their favourite trick of going for what seemed to them theobvious line of pursuit. 

"I'm thinking we've got on the right clue at last, as regards the murderof yon man Phillips, " announced Chisholm, with an air of satisfaction. "And if it is the right clue, as it seems to be, Mr. Lindsey, there'll beno great mystery in the matter, after all. Just a plain case of murderfor the sake of robbery--that's it!"

"What's your clue?" asked Mr. Lindsey quietly. 

"Well, " answered Chisholm, with a sort of sly wink, "you'll understand, Mr. Lindsey, that we haven't been doing nothing these last few days, since yon inquest on Phillips, you know. As a matter of fact, we'vebeen making inquiries wherever there seemed a chance of findinganything out. And we've found something out--through one of the banksyonder at Peebles. "

He looked at us as if to see if we were impressed; seeing, at any rate, that we were deeply interested, he went on. 

"It appears--I'll tell you the story in order, as it were, " he said--"itappears that about eight months ago the agent of the British Linen Bankat Peebles got a letter from one John Phillips, written from a placecalled Colon, in Panama--that's Central America, as you'll beaware--enclosing a draft for three thousand pounds on the InternationalBanking Corporation of New York. The letter instructed the Peebles agentto collect this sum and to place it in his bank to the writer's credit. Furthermore, it stated that the money was to be there until Phillips camehome to Scotland, in a few months' time from the date of writing. This, of course, was all done in due course--there was the three thousandpounds in Phillips's name. There was a bit of correspondence between himat Colon and the bank at Peebles--then, at last, he wrote that he wasleaving Panama for Scotland, and would call on the bank soon after hisarrival. And on the morning of the day on which he was murdered, Phillipsdid call at the bank and established his identity, and so on, and he thendrew out five hundred pounds of his money--two hundred pounds in gold, and the rest in small notes; and, Mr. Lindsey, he carried that sum awaywith him in a little handbag that he had with him. "

Mr. Lindsey, who had been listening with great attention, nodded. 

"Aye!" he said. "Carried five hundred pounds away with him. Go on, then. "

"Now, " continued Chisholm, evidently very well satisfied with himself forthe way he was marshalling his facts, "we--that is, to put it plainly, Imyself--have been making more searching inquiries about Cornhill andColdstream. There's two of the men at Cornhill station will swear thatwhen Phillips got out of the train there, that evening of the murder, hewas carrying a little handbag such as the bank cashier remembers--asmall, new, brown leather bag. They're certain of it--theticket-collector remembers him putting it under his arm while he searchedhis pocket for his ticket. And what's more, the landlord of the innacross the bridge there at Coldstream he remembers the bag, clearlyenough, and that Phillips never had his hand off it while he was in hishouse. And of course, Mr. Lindsey, the probability is that in that bagwas the money--just as he had drawn it out of the bank. "

"You've more to tell, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Just so, " replied Chisholm. "And there's two items. First of all--we'vefound that bag! Empty, you may be sure. In the woods near that old ruinon Till side. Thrown away under a lot of stuff--dead stuff, you'llunderstand, where it might have lain till Doomsday if I hadn't had amost particular search made. But--that's not all. The second item ishere--the railway folk at Cornhill are unanimous in declaring that bythat same train which brought Phillips there, two men, strangers, thatlooked like tourist gentlemen, came as well, whose tickets werefrom--where d'ye think, then, Mr. Lindsey?"

"Peebles, of course, " answered Mr. Lindsey. 

"And you've guessed right!" exclaimed Chisholm, triumphantly; "Peebles itwas--and now, how do you think this affair looks? There's so manytourists on Tweedside this time of the year that nobody paid any greatattention that night to these men, nor where they went. But what could beplainer, d'ye think?--of course, those two had tracked Phillips from thebank, and they followed him till they had him in yon place where he wasfound, and they murdered him--to rob him!"

CHAPTER XV

FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR

It was very evident that Chisholm was in a state of gleeful assuranceabout his theory, and I don't think he was very well pleased when Mr. Lindsey, instead of enthusiastically acclaiming it as a promising one, began to ask him questions. 

"You found a pretty considerable sum on Phillips as it was when yousearched his body, didn't you?" he asked. 

"Aye--a good lot!" assented Chisholm. "But it was in a pocket-book in aninner pocket of his coat, and in his purse. "

"If it was robbery, why didn't they take everything?" inquired Mr. Lindsey. 

"Aye, I knew you'd ask that, " replied Chisholm. "But the thing is thatthey were interrupted. The bag they could carry off--but it's probablethat they heard Mr. Moneylaws here coming down the lane before they couldsearch the man's pockets. "

"Umph!" said Mr. Lindsey. "And how do you account for two men gettingaway from the neighbourhood without attracting attention?"

"Easy enough, " declared Chisholm. "As I said just now, there's numbers ofstrangers comes about Tweedside at this time of the year, and who'dthink anything of seeing them? What was easier than for these two toseparate, to keep close during the rest of the night, and to get away bytrain from some wayside station or other next morning? They could manageit easily--and we're making inquiries at all the stations in the districton both sides the Tweed, with that idea. "

"Well--you'll have a lot of people to follow up, then, " remarked Mr. Lindsey drily. "If you're going to follow every tourist that got on atrain next morning between Berwick and Wooler, and Berwick and Kelso, andBerwick and Burnmouth, and Berwick and Blyth, you'll have your work set, I'm thinking!"

"All the same, " said Chisholm doggedly, "that's how it's been. And thebank at Peebles has the numbers of the notes that Phillips carried off inhis little bag--and I'll trace those fellows yet, Mr. Lindsey. "

"Good luck to you, sergeant!" answered Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me whenChisholm had gone. "That's the police all over, Hugh, " he remarked. "Andyou might talk till you were black in the face to yon man, and he'd stickto his story. "

"You don't believe it, then?" I asked him, somewhat surprised. 

"He may be right, " he replied. "I'm not saying. Let him attend to hisbusiness--and now we'll be seeing to ours. "

It was a busy day with us in the office that, being the day before courtday, and we had no time to talk of anything but our own affairs. Butduring the afternoon, at a time when I had left the office for an houror two on business, Sir Gilbert Carstairs called, and he was closetedwith Mr. Lindsey when I returned. And after they had been together sometime Mr. Lindsey came out to me and beckoned me into a littlewaiting-room that we had and shut the door on us, and I saw at once fromthe expression on his face that he had no idea that Sir Gilbert and Ihad met the night before, or that I had any notion of what he was goingto say to me. 

"Hugh, my lad!" said he, clapping me on the shoulder; "you're evidentlyone of those that are born lucky. What's the old saying--'Some achievegreatness, some have greatness thrust upon them!'--eh? Here'sgreatness--in a degree--thrusting itself on you!"

"What's this you're talking about, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked. "There's notmuch greatness about me, I'm thinking!"

"Well, it's not what you're thinking in this case, " he answered; "it'swhat other folks are thinking of you. Here's Sir Gilbert Carstairs in myroom yonder. He's wanting a steward--somebody that can keep accounts, andletters, and look after the estate, and he's been looking round for alikely man, and he's heard that Lindsey's clerk, Hugh Moneylaws, is justthe sort he wants--and, in short, the job's yours, if you like to takeit. And, my lad, it's worth five hundred a year--and a permanency, too! Afine chance for a young fellow of your age!"

"Do you advise me to take it, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked, endeavouring tocombine surprise with a proper respect for the value of his counsel. "It's a serious job that for, as you say, a young fellow. "

"Not if he's got your headpiece on him, " he replied, giving me anotherclap on the shoulder. "I do advise you to take it. I've given you thestrongest recommendations to him. Go into my office now and talk it overwith Sir Gilbert by yourself. But when it comes to settling details, callme in--I'll see you're done right to. "

I thanked him warmly, and went into his room, where Sir Gilbert wassitting in an easy-chair. He motioned me to shut the door, and, once thatwas done, he gave a quick, inquiring look. 

"You didn't let him know that you and I had talked last night?" heasked at once. 

"No, " said I. 

"That's right--and I didn't either, " he went on. "I don't want him toknow I spoke to you before speaking to him--it would look as if I weretrying to get his clerk away from him. Well, it's settled, then, Moneylaws? You'll take the post?"

"I shall be very glad to, Sir Gilbert, " said I. "And I'll serve you tothe best of my ability, if you'll have a bit of patience with me at thebeginning. There'll be some difference between my present job and thisyou're giving me, but I'm a quick learner, and--"

"Oh, that's all right, man!" he interrupted carelessly. "You'll do allthat I want. I hate accounts, and letter-writing, and all that sortof thing--take all that off my hands, and you'll do. Of course, whenever you're in a fix about anything, come to me--but I can explainall there is to do in an hour's talk with you at the beginning. Allright!--ask Mr. Lindsey to step in to me, and we'll put the matter ona business footing. "

Mr. Lindsey came in and took over the job of settling matters on mybehalf. And the affair was quickly arranged. I was to stay with Mr. Lindsey another month, so as to give him the opportunity of getting a newhead clerk, then I was to enter on my new duties at Hathercleugh. I wasto have five hundred pounds a year salary, with six months' notice oneither side; at the end of five years, if I was still in the situation, the terms were to be revised with a view to an increase--and all this wasto be duly set down in black and white. These propositions, of course, were Mr. Lindsey's, and Sir Gilbert assented to all of them readily andpromptly. He appeared to be the sort of man who is inclined to acceptanything put before him rather than have a lot of talk about it. Andpresently, remarking that that was all right, and he'd leave Mr. Lindseyto see to it, he rose to go, but at the door paused and came back. 

"I'm thinking of dropping in at the police-station and telling Murray myideas about that Crone affair, " he remarked. "It's my opinion, Mr. Lindsey, that there's salmon-poaching going on hereabouts, and if my landadjoined either Tweed or Till I'd have spoken about it before. There arequeer characters about along both rivers at nights--I know, because I goout a good deal, very late, walking, to try and cure myself of insomnia;and I know what I've seen. It's my impression that Crone was probablymixed up with some gang, and that his death arose out of an affraybetween them. "

"That's probable, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "There was trouble of that sortsome years ago, but I haven't heard of it lately. Certainly, it would bea good thing to start the idea in Murray's mind; he might follow it upand find something out. "

"That other business--the Phillips murder--might have sprung out of thesame cause, " suggested Sir Gilbert. "If those chaps caught a stranger ina lonely place--"

"The police have a theory already about Phillips, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. "They think he was followed from Peebles, and murdered for the sake ofmoney that he was carrying in a bag he had with him. And my experience, "he added with a laugh, "is that if the police once get a theory of theirown, it's no use suggesting any other to them--they'll ride theirs, either till it drops or they get home with it. "

Sir Gilbert nodded his head, as if he agreed with that, and he suddenlygave Mr. Lindsey an inquiring look. 

"What's your own opinion?" he asked. 

But Mr. Lindsey was not to be drawn. He laughed and shrugged hisshoulders, as if to indicate that the affair was none of his. 

"I wouldn't say that I have an opinion, Sir Gilbert, " he answered. "It's much too soon to form one, and I haven't the details, and I'm nota detective. But all these matters are very simple--when you get to thebottom of them. The police think this is going to be a very simpleaffair--mere vulgar murder for the sake of mere vulgar robbery. Weshall see!"

Then Sir Gilbert went away, and Mr. Lindsey looked at me, who stood alittle apart, and he saw that I was thinking. 

"Well, my lad, " he said; "a bit dazed by your new opening? It's a finechance for you, too! Now, I suppose, you'll be wanting to get married. Isit that you're thinking about?"

"Well, I was not, Mr. Lindsey, " said I. "I was just wondering--if youmust know--how it was that, as he was here, you didn't tell SirGilbert about that signature of his brother's that you found onGilverthwaite's will. "

He shared a sharp look between me and the door--but the door wassafely shut. 

"No!" he said. "Neither to him nor to anybody, yet a while! And don'tyou mention that, my lad. Keep it dark till I give the word. I'llfind out about that in my own way. You understand--on that point, absolute silence. "

I replied that, of course, I would not say a word; and presently Iwent into the office to resume my duties. But I had not been long atthat before the door opened, and Chisholm put his face within andlooked at me. 

"I'm wanting you, Mr. Moneylaws, " he said. "You said you were withCrone, buying something, that night before his body was found. You'd bepaying him money--and he might be giving you change. Did you happen tosee his purse, now?"

"Aye!" answered I. "What for do you ask that?"

"Because, " said he, "we've taken a fellow at one of those riversidepublics that's been drinking heavily, and, of course, spending moneyfreely. And he has a queer-looking purse on him, and one or two menthat's seen it vows and declares it was Abel Crone's. "

CHAPTER XVI

THE MAN IN THE CELL

Before I could reply to Chisholm's inquiry, Mr. Lindsey put his head outof his door and seeing the police-sergeant there asked what he was after. And when Chisholm had repeated his inquiry, both looked at me. 

"I did see Crone's purse that night, " I answered, "an old thing that hekept tied up with a boot-lace. And he'd a lot of money in it, too. "

"Come round, then, and see if you can identify this that we found on theman, " requested Chisholm. "And, " he added, turning to Mr. Lindsey, "there's another thing. The man's sober enough, now that we've gothim--it's given him a bit of a pull-together, being arrested. And he'sdemanding a lawyer. Perhaps you'll come to him, Mr. Lindsey. "

"Who is he?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "A Berwick man?"

"He isn't, " replied Chisholm. "He's a stranger--a fellow that says he wasseeking work, and had been stopping at a common lodging-house in thetown. He vows and declares that he'd nothing to do with killing Crone, and he's shouting for a lawyer. "

Mr. Lindsey put on his hat, and he and I went off with Chisholm to thepolice-station. And as we got in sight of it, we became aware that therewas a fine to-do in the street before its door. The news of the arresthad spread quickly, and folk had come running to get more particulars. And amongst the women and children and loafers that were crowding aroundwas Crone's housekeeper, a great, heavy, rough-haired Irishwoman calledNance Maguire, and she was waving her big arms and shaking her fists at acouple of policemen, whom she was adjuring to bring out the murderer, sothat she might do justice on him then and there--all this being mingledwith encomiums on the victim. 

"The best man that ever lived!" she was screaming at the top of hervoice. "The best and kindest creature ever set foot in your murderingtown! And didn't I know he was to be done to death by some of ye? Didn'the tell me himself that there was one would give his two eyes to beseeing his corpse? And if ye've laid hands on him that did it, bring himout to me, so, and I'll--"

Mr. Lindsey laid a quiet hand on the woman's arm and twisted her round inthe direction of her cottage. 

"Hold your wisht, good wife, and go home!" he whispered to her. "And ifyou know anything, keep your tongue still till I come to see you. Beaway, now, and leave it to me. "

I don't know how it was, but Nance Maguire, after a sharp look at Mr. Lindsey, turned away as meekly as a lamb, and went off, tearful enough, but quiet, down the street, followed by half the rabble, while Mr. Lindsey, Chisholm, and myself turned into the police-station. And therewe met Mr. Murray, who wagged his head at us as if he were very wellsatisfied with something. 

"Not much doubt about this last affair, anyhow, " said he, as he took usinto his office. "You might say the man was caught red-handed! All thesame, Mr. Lindsey, he's in his rights to ask for a lawyer, and you cansee him whenever you like. "

"What are the facts?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Let me know that much first. "

Mr. Murray jerked his thumb at Chisholm. 

"The sergeant there knows them, " he answered. "He took the man. "

"It was this way, d'ye see, Mr. Lindsey, " said Chisholm, who was becomingan adept at putting statements before people. "You know that bit of apublic there is along the river yonder, outside the wall--the Cod andLobster? Well, James Macfarlane, that keeps it, he came to me, maybe anhour or so ago, and said there was a fellow, a stranger, had been in andout there all day since morning, drinking; and though he wouldn't say theman was what you'd rightly call drunk, still he'd had a skinful, and hewas in there again, and they wouldn't serve him, and he was gettingquarrelsome and abusive, and in the middle of it had pulled out a pursethat another man who was in there vowed and declared, aside, toMacfarlane, was Abel Crone's. So I got a couple of constables and wentback with Macfarlane, and there was the man vowing he'd be served, andwith a handful of money to prove that he could pay for whatever hecalled for. And as he began to turn ugly, and show fight, we just clappedthe bracelets on him and brought him along, and there he is in thecells--and, of course, it's sobered him down, and he's demanding hisrights to see a lawyer. "

"Who is he?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"A stranger to the town, " replied Chisholm. "And he'll neither give namenor address but to a lawyer, he declares. But we know he was staying atone of the common lodging-houses--Watson's--three nights ago, and thatthe last two nights he wasn't in there at all. "

"Well--where's that purse?" demanded Mr. Lindsey. "Mr. Moneylaws heresays he can identify it, if it's Crone's. "

Chisholm opened a drawer and took out what I at once knew to be AbelCrone's purse--which was in reality a sort of old pocket-book or wallet, of some sort of skin, with a good deal of the original hair left on it, and tied about with a bit of old bootlace. There were both gold andsilver in it--just as I had seen when Crone pulled it out to find me somechange for a five-shilling piece I had given him--and more by token, there was the five-shilling piece itself!

"That's Crone's purse!" I exclaimed. "I've no doubt about that. Andthat's a crown piece I gave him myself; I've no doubt about that either!"

"Let us see the man, " said Mr. Lindsey. 

Chisholm led us down a corridor to the cells, and unlocked a door. Hestepped within the cell behind it, motioning us to follow. And there, onthe one stool which the place contained, sat a big, hulking fellow thatlooked like a navvy, whose rough clothes bore evidence of his havingslept out in them, and whose boots were stained with the mud and claywhich they would be likely to collect along the riverside. He was sittingnursing his head in his hands, growling to himself, and he looked up atus as I have seen wild beasts look out through the bars of cages. Andsomehow, there was that in the man's eyes which made me think, there andthen, that he was not reflecting on any murder that he had done, but wassullenly and stupidly angry with himself. 

"Now, then, here's a lawyer for you, " said Chisholm. "Mr. Lindsey, solicitor. "

"Well, my man!" began Mr. Lindsey, taking a careful look at this queerclient. "What have you got to say to me?"

The prisoner gave Chisholm a disapproving look. 

"Not going to say a word before the likes of him!" he growled. "I know myrights, guv'nor! What I say, I'll say private to you. "

"Better leave us, sergeant, " said Mr. Lindsey. He waited till Chisholm, abit unwilling, had left the cell and closed the door, and then he turnedto the man. "Now, then, " he continued, "you know what they charge youwith? You've been drinking hard--are you sober enough to talk sense? Verywell, then--what's this you want me for?"

"To defend me, of course!" growled the prisoner. He twisted a hand roundto the back of his trousers as if to find something. "I've money of myown--a bit put away in a belt, " he said; "I'll pay you. "

"Never mind that now, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "Who are you?--and what doyou want to say?"

"Name of John Carter, " replied the man. "General labourer--navvywork--anything of that sort. On tramp--seeking a job. Came here, goingnorth, night before last. And--no more to do with the murder of yon manthan you have!"

"They found his purse on you, anyway, " remarked Mr. Lindsey bluntly. "What have you got to say to that?"

"What I say is that I'm a damned fool!" answered Carter surlily. "It'sall against me, I know, but I'll tell you--you can tell lawyers anything. Who's that young fellow?" he demanded suddenly, glaring at me. "I'm notgoing to talk before no detectives. "

"My clerk, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "Now, then--tell your tale. And justremember what a dangerous position you're in. "

"Know that as well as you do, " muttered the prisoner. "But I'm soberenough, now! It's this way--I stopped here in the town three nightssince, and looked about for a job next day, and then I heard of somethinglikely up the river and went after it and didn't get it, so I startedback here--late at night it was. And after crossing that bridge at aplace called Twizel, I turned down to the river-bank, thinking to take ashort cut. And--it was well after dark, then, mind you, guv'nor--incoming along through the woods, just before where the little river runsinto the big one, I come across this man's body--stumbled on it. That'sthe truth!"

"Well!" said Mr. Lindsey. 

"He was lying--I could show you the place, easy--between the edge of thewood and the river-bank, " continued Carter. "And though he was deadenough when I found him, guv'nor, he hadn't been dead so long. But deadhe was--and not from aught of my doing. "

"What time was this?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"It would be past eleven o'clock, " replied Carter. "It was ten when Icalled by Cornhill station. I went the way I did--down through the woodsto the river-bank--because I'd noticed a hut there in the morning that Icould sleep in--I was making for that when I found the body. "

"Well--about the purse?" demanded Mr. Lindsey shortly. "No lies, now!"

The prisoner shook his head at that, and growled--but it was evident hewas growling at himself. 

"That's right enough, " he confessed. "I felt in his pockets, and I didtake the purse. But--I didn't put him in the water. True as I'm here, guv'nor. I did no more than take the purse! I left him there--just as hewas--and the next day I got drinking, and last night I stopped in thathut again, and today I was drinking, pretty heavy--and I sort of lost myhead and pulled the purse out, and--that's the truth, anyway, whether youbelieve it or not. But I didn't kill yon man, though I'll admit I robbedhis body--like the fool I am!"

"Well, you see where it's landed you, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. "Allright--hold your tongue now, and I'll see what I can do. I'll appear foryou when you come before the magistrate tomorrow. "

He tapped at the door of the cell, and Chisholm, who had evidently waitedin the corridor, let us out. Mr. Lindsey said nothing to him, nor to thesuperintendent--he led me away into the street. And there he clapped meon the arm. 

"I believe every word that man said!" he murmured. "Come on, now--we'llsee this Nance Maguire. "

CHAPTER XVII

THE IRISH HOUSEKEEPER

I was a good deal surprised that Mr. Lindsey should be--apparently--soanxious to interview Crone's housekeeper, and I said as much. He turnedon me sharply, with a knowing look. 

"Didn't you hear what the woman was saying when we came across her thereoutside the police-station?" he exclaimed. "She was saying that Crone hadsaid to her that there was some man who would give his two eyes to beseeing his corpse! Crone's been telling her something. And I'm soconvinced that that man in the cells yonder has told us the truth, asregards himself, that I'm going to find out what Crone did tell her. Whois there--who could there be that wanted to see Crone's dead body? Let'stry to find that out. "

I made no answer--but I was beginning to think; and to wonder, too, in avague, not very pleasant fashion. Was this--was Crone's death, murder, whatever it was--at all connected with the previous affair of Phillips?Had Crone told me the truth that night I went to buy the stuff for TomDunlop's rabbit-hutches? or had he kept something back? And while I wasreflecting on these points, Mr. Lindsey began talking again. 

"I watched that man closely when he was giving me his account of whathappened, " he said, "and, as I said just now, I believe he told us thetruth. Whoever it was that did Crone to death, he's not in that cell, Hugh, my lad; and, unless I'm much mistaken, all this is of a piece withPhillips's murder. But let's hear what this Irishwoman has to say. "

Crone's cottage was a mean, miserable shanty sort of place down a narrowalley in a poor part of the town. When we reached its door there was agroup of women and children round it, all agog with excitement. But thedoor itself was closed, and it was not opened to us until Nance Maguire'sface had appeared at the bit of a window, and Nance had assured herselfof the identity of her visitors. And when she had let us in, she shut thedoor once more and slipped a bolt into its socket. 

"I an't said a word, your honour, " said she, "since your honour told menot to, though them outside is sharp on me to tell 'em this and that. AndI wouldn't have said what I did up yonder had I known your honour wouldbe for supporting me. I was feeling there wasn't a soul in the placewould see justice done for him that's gone--the poor, good man!"

"If you want justice, my good woman, " remarked Mr. Lindsey, "keep yourtongue quiet, and don't talk to your neighbours, nor to the police--justkeep anything you know till I tell you to let it out. Now, then, what'sthis you were saying?--that Crone told you there was a man in the placewould give his two eyes to see him a corpse?"

"Them very words, your honour; and not once nor twice, but a good manytimes did he say it, " replied the woman. "It was a sort of hint he wasgiving me, your honour--he had that way of speaking. "

"Since when did he give you such hints?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Was itonly lately?"

"It was since that other bloody murder, your honour, " said Nance Maguire. "Only since then. He would talk of it as we sat over the fire there atnights. 'There's murder in the air, ' says he. 'Bloody murder is allaround us!' he says. 'And it's myself will have to pick my stepscareful, ' he says, 'for there's him about would give his two eyes to seeme a stark and staring corpse, ' he says. 'Me knowing, ' he says, 'morethan you'd give me credit for, ' says he. And not another word than themcould I get out of him, your honour. "

"He never told you who the man was that he had his fears of?" inquiredMr. Lindsey. 

"He did not, then, your honour, " replied Nance. "He was a close man, andyou wouldn't be getting more out of him than he liked to tell. "

"Now, then, just tell me the truth about a thing or two, " said Mr. Lindsey. "Crone used to be out at nights now and then, didn't he?"

"Indeed, then, he did so, your honour, " she answered readily. "'Tis true, he would be out at nights, now and again. "

"Poaching, as a matter of fact, " suggested Mr. Lindsey. 

"And that's the truth, your honour, " she assented. "He was a clever handwith the rabbits. "

"Aye; but did he never bring home a salmon, now?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Come, out with it. "

"I'll not deny that, neither, your honour, " admitted the woman. "He wasclever at that too. "

"Well, now, about that night when he was supposed to be killed, "continued Mr. Lindsey; "that's Tuesday last--this being Thursday. Did heever come home that evening from his shop?"

I had been listening silently all this time, and I listened withredoubled attention for the woman's answer to the last question. It wason the Tuesday evening, about nine o'clock, that I had had my talk withCrone, and I was anxious to know what happened after that. And NanceMaguire replied readily enough--it was evident her memory was clear onthese events. 

"He did not, then, " she said. "He was in here having his tea at sixo'clock that evening, and he went away to the shop when he'd had it, andI never put my eyes on him again, alive, your honour. He was never homethat night, and he didn't come to his breakfast next morning, and hewasn't at the shop--and I never heard this or that of him till they comeand tell me the bad news. "

I knew then what must have happened. After I had left him, Crone had goneaway up the river towards Tillmouth--he had a crazy old bicycle that herode about on. And most people, having heard Nance Maguire's admissions, would have said that he had gone poaching. But I was not so sure of that. I was beginning to suspect that Crone had played some game with me, andhad not told me anything like the truth during our conversation. Therehad been more within his knowledge than he had let out--but what was it?And I could not help feeling that his object in setting off in thatdirection, immediately after I had left him, might have been, notpoaching, but somebody to whom he wished to communicate the result of histalk with me. And, in that case, who was the somebody?

But just then I had to leave my own thoughts and speculations alone, andto attend to what was going on between my principal and Nance Maguire. Mr. Lindsey, however, appeared to be satisfied with what he had heard. Hegave the woman some further advice about keeping her tongue still, toldher what to do as regards Crone's effects, and left the cottage. And whenwe were out in the main street again on our way back to the office heturned to me with a look of decision. 

"I've come to a definite theory about this affair, Hugh, " he said. "AndI'll lay a fiver to a farthing that it's the right one!"

"Yes, Mr. Lindsey?" said I, keenly interested at hearing that. 

"Crone knew who killed Phillips, " he said. "And the man who killedPhillips killed Crone, too, because Crone knew! That's been the way ofit, my lad! And now, then, who's the man?"

I could make no reply to such a question, and presently he wenton--talking as much to himself, I think, as to me. 

"I wish I knew certain things!" he muttered. "I wish I knew what Phillipsand Gilverthwaite came here for. I wish I knew if Gilverthwaite ever hadany secret dealings with Crone. I wish--I do wish!--I knew if there hasbeen--if there is--a third man in this Phillips-Gilverthwaite affair whohas managed, and is managing, to keep himself in the background. But--I'll stake my professional reputation on one thing--whoever killedPhillips, killed Abel Crone! It's all of a piece. "

Now, of course I know now--have known for many a year--that it was atthis exact juncture that I made a fatal, a reprehensible mistake in myshare of all this business. It was there, at that exact point, that Iought to have made a clean breast to Mr. Lindsey of everything that Iknew. I ought to have told him, there and then, of what I had seen at thecross-roads that night of the murder of Phillips; and of my conversationabout that with Abel Crone at his shop; and of my visit to Sir GilbertCarstairs at Hathercleugh House. Had I done so, matters would have becomesimplified, and much more horror and trouble avoided, for Mr. Lindsey wasjust then at the beginning of a straight track and my silence turned himaway from it, to get into more twisted and obscure ones. But--I saidnothing. And why? The answer is simple, and there's the excuse of humannature in it--I was so much filled with the grand prospects of mystewardship, and of all it would bring me, and was so highly pleased withSir Gilbert Carstairs for his advancement of my fortunes, that--here'sthe plain truth--I could not bring myself to think of, or bother with, anything else. Up to then, of course, I had not said a word to my motheror to Maisie Dunlop of the stewardship--I was impatient to tell both. SoI held my peace and said nothing to Mr. Lindsey--and presently the officework for the day was over and I was free to race home with my grand news. Is it likely that with such news as that I would be troubling my head anylonger about other folks' lives and deaths?

That, I suppose, was the most important evening I had ever spent in mylife. To begin with, I felt as if I had suddenly become older, andbigger, and much more important. I became inclined to adopt magisterialairs to my mother and my sweetheart, laying down the law to them as tothe future in a fashion which made Maisie poke fun at me for a crowingcockerel. It was only natural that I should suffer a little from swelledhead that night--I should not have been human otherwise. But AndrewDunlop took the conceit out of me with a vengeance when Maisie and I toldhim the news, and I explained everything to him in his back-parlour. Hewas at times a man of many words, and at times a man of few words--andwhen he said little, he meant most. 

"Aye!" said he. "Well, that's a fine prospect, Hugh, my man, and I wishyou well in it. But there'll be no talk of any wedding for two years--soget that notion out of your heads, both of you! In two years you'll justhave got settled to your new job, and you'll be finding out how you suityour master and how he suits you--we'll get the preliminaries over, andsee how things promise in that time. And we'll see, too, how much moneyyou've saved out of your salary, my man--so you'll just not hear thewedding-bells calling for a couple of twelvemonths, and'll behaveyourselves like good children in the meanwhile. There's a deal of thingsmay happen in two years, I'm thinking. "

He might have added that a deal of things may happen in two weeks--and, indeed, he would have had good reason for adding it, could he have lookeda few days ahead. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ICE AX

The police put Carter in the dock before a full bench of magistrates nextmorning, and the court was so crowded that it was all Mr. Lindsey and Icould do to force our way to the solicitors' table. Several minor casescame on before Carter was brought up from the cells, and during thishearing I had leisure to look round the court and see who was there. Andalmost at once I saw Sir Gilbert Carstairs, who, though not yet a justiceof the peace--his commission to that honourable office arrived a few dayslater, oddly enough, --had been given a seat on the bench, in company withone or two other local dignitaries, one of whom, I observed with somecuriosity, was that Reverend Mr. Ridley who had given evidence at theinquest on Phillips. All these folk, it was easy to see, were in a highstate of inquisitiveness about Crone's murder; and from certain whispersthat I overheard, I gathered that the chief cause of this interest lay ina generally accepted opinion that it was, as Mr. Lindsey had declared tome more than once, all of a piece with the crime of the previous week. And it was very easy to observe that they were not so curious to seeCarter as to hear what might be alleged against him. 

There appeared to be some general surprise when Mr. Lindsey quietlyannounced that he was there on behalf of the prisoner. You would havethought from the demeanour of the police that, in their opinion, therewas nothing for the bench to do but hear a bit of evidence and commitCarter straight away to the Assizes to take his trial for wilful murder. What evidence they did bring forward was, of course, plain andstraightforward enough. Crone had been found lying in a deep pool in theRiver Till; but the medical testimony showed that he had met his fate bya blow from some sharp instrument, the point of which had penetrated theskull and the frontal part of the brain in such a fashion as to causeinstantaneous death. The man in the dock had been apprehended withCrone's purse in his possession--therefore, said the police, he hadmurdered and robbed Crone. As I say, Mr. Murray and all of them--as youcould see--were quite of the opinion that this was sufficient; and I ampretty sure that the magistrates were of the same way of thinking. Andthe police were not over well pleased, and the rest of the folk in courtwere, to say the least, a little mystified, when Mr. Lindsey asked a fewquestions of two witnesses--of whom Chisholm was one, and the doctor whohad been fetched to Crone's body the other. And before setting down whatquestions they were that Mr. Lindsey asked, I will remark here that therewas a certain something, a sort of mysterious hinting in his manner ofasking them, that suggested a lot more than the mere questionsthemselves, and made people begin to whisper amongst each other thatLawyer Lindsey knew things that he was not just then minded to let out. 

It was to Chisholm that he put his first questions--casually, as if theywere very ordinary ones, and yet with an atmosphere of meaning behindthem that excited curiosity. 

"You made a very exhaustive search of the neighbourhood of the spot whereCrone's body was found, didn't you?" he inquired. 

"A thorough search, " answered Chisholm. 

"You found the exact spot where the man had been struck down?"

"Judging by the marks of blood--yes. "

"On the river-bank--between the river and a coppice, wasn't it?"

"Just so--between the bank and the coppice. "

"How far had the body been dragged before it was thrown into the river?"

"Ten yards, " replied Chisholm promptly. 

"Did you notice any footprints?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"It would be difficult to trace any, " explained Chisholm. "The grass isvery thick in some places, and where it isn't thick it's that close andwiry in texture that a boot wouldn't make any impression. "

"One more question, " said Mr. Lindsey, leaning forward and lookingChisholm full in the face. "When you charged the man there in the dockwith the murder of Abel Crone, didn't he at once--instantly!--show thegreatest surprise? Come, now, on your oath--yes or no?"

"Yes!" admitted Chisholm; "he did. "

"But he just as readily admitted he was in possession of Crone's purse?Again--yes or no?"

"Yes, " said Chisholm. "Yes--that's so. "

That was all Mr. Lindsey asked Chisholm. It was not much more that heasked the doctor. But there was more excitement about what he did askhim--arising out of something that he did in asking it. 

"There's been talk, doctor, as to what the precise weapon was whichcaused the fatal injury to this man Crone, " he said. "It's been suggestedthat the wound which occasioned his death might have been--and probablywas--caused by a blow from a salmon gaff. What is your opinion?"

"It might have been, " said the doctor cautiously. 

"It was certainly caused by a pointed weapon--some sort of a spikedweapon?" suggested Mr. Lindsey. 

"A sharp, pointed weapon, most certainly, " affirmed the doctor. 

"There are other things than a salmon gaff that, in your opinion, couldhave caused it?"

"Oh, of course!" said the doctor. 

Mr. Lindsey paused a moment, and looked round the court as if he werethinking over his next question. Then he suddenly plunged his hand underthe table at which he was standing, and amidst a dead silence drew out along, narrow brown-paper parcel which I had seen him bring to the officethat morning. Quietly, while the silence grew deeper and the intereststronger, he produced from this an object such as I had never seenbefore--an implement or weapon about three feet in length, its shaft madeof some tough but evidently elastic wood, furnished at one end with astrong iron ferrule, and at the other with a steel head, one extremity ofwhich was shaped like a carpenter's adze, while the other tapered off toa fine point. He balanced this across his open palms for a moment, sothat the court might see it--then he passed it over to the witness-box. 

"Now, doctor, " he said, "look at that--which is one of the latest formsof the ice-ax. Could that wound have been caused by that--or somethingvery similar to it?"

The witness put a forefinger on the sharp point of the head. 

"Certainly!" he answered. "It is much more likely to have been caused bysuch an implement as this than by a salmon gaff. "

Mr. Lindsey reached out his hand for the ice-ax, and, repossessinghimself of it, passed it and its brown-paper wrapping to me. 

"Thank you, doctor, " he said; "that's all I wanted to know. " He turned tothe bench. "I wish to ask your worships, if it is your intention, on theevidence you have heard, to commit the prisoner on the capital chargetoday?" he asked. "If it is, I shall oppose such a course. What I do ask, knowing what I do, is that you should adjourn this case for a week--whenI shall have some evidence to put before you which, I think, will provethat this man did not kill Abel Crone. "

There was some discussion. I paid little attention to it, beingconsiderably amazed at the sudden turn which things had taken, andastonished altogether by Mr. Lindsey's production of the ice-ax. But thediscussion ended in Mr. Lindsey having his own way, and Carter wasremanded in custody, to be brought up again a week later; and presentlywe were all out in the streets, in groups, everybody talking excitedlyabout what had just taken place, and speculating on what it was thatLawyer Lindsey was after. Mr. Lindsey himself, however, was moreimperturbable and, if anything, cooler than usual. He tapped me on thearm as we went out of court, and at the same time took the parcelcontaining the ice-ax from me. 

"Hugh, " he said; "there's nothing more to do today, and I'm going out oftown at once, until tomorrow. You can lock up the office now, and youand the other two can take a holiday. I'm going straight home and thento the station. "

He turned hurriedly away in the direction of his house, and I went off tothe office to carry out his instructions. There was nothing strange inhis giving us a holiday--it was a thing he often did in summer, on finedays when we had nothing much to do, and this was a gloriously fine dayand the proceedings in court had been so short that it was not yet noon. So I packed off the two junior clerks and the office lad, and locked up, and went away myself--and in the street outside I met Sir GilbertCarstairs. He was coming along in our direction, evidently deep inthought, and he started a little as he looked up and saw me. 

"Hullo, Moneylaws!" he said in his off-hand fashion. "I was just wantingto see you. I say!" he went on, laying a hand on my arm, "you're deadcertain that you've never mentioned to a soul but myself anything aboutthat affair of yours and Crone's--you know what I mean?"

"Absolutely certain, Sir Gilbert!" I answered. "There's no living beingknows--but yourself. "

"That's all right, " he said, and I could see he was relieved. "I don'twant mixing up with these matters--I should very much dislike it. What'sLindsey trying to get at in his defence of this man Carter?"

"I can't think, " I replied. "Unless it is that he's now inclining to thetheory of the police that Phillips was murdered by some man or men whofollowed him from Peebles, and that the same man or men murdered Crone. Ithink that must be it: there were some men--tourists--about, who haven'tbeen found yet. "

He hesitated a moment, and then glanced at our office door. 

"Lindsey in?" he asked. 

"No, Sir Gilbert, " I replied. "He's gone out of town and given usa holiday. "

"Oh!" he said, looking at me with a sudden smile. "You've got a holiday, have you, Moneylaws? Look here--I'm going for a run in my bit of ayacht--come with me! How soon can you be ready?"

"As soon as I've taken my dinner, Sir Gilbert, " I answered, pleasedenough at the invitation. "Would an hour do?"

"You needn't bother about your dinner, " he said. "I'm having a lunchbasket packed now at the hotel, and I'll step in and tell them to put inenough for two. Go and get a good thick coat, and meet me down at thefront in half an hour. "

I ran off home, told my mother where I was going, and hurried away to theriver-side. The Tweed was like a mirror flashing back the sunlight thatday, and out beyond its mouth the open sea was bright and blue as the skyabove. How could I foresee that out there, in those far-off dancingwaters, there was that awaiting me of which I can only think now, when itis long past, with fear and horror?

CHAPTER XIX

MY TURN

I had known for some time that Sir Gilbert Carstairs had a small yachtlying at one of the boathouses on the riverside; indeed, I had seen herbefore ever I saw him. She was a trim, graceful thing, with all theappearance of an excellent sea-boat, and though she looked like a craftthat could stand a lot of heavy weather, she had the advantage of beingso light in draught--something under three feet--that it was possible forher to enter the shallowest harbour. I had heard that Sir Gilbert wasconstantly sailing her up and down the coast, and sometimes going wellout to sea in her. On these occasions he was usually accompanied by afisherlad whom he had picked up somehow or other: this lad, Wattie Mason, was down by the yacht when I reached her, and he gave me a glowering lookwhen he found that I was to put his nose out for this time at any rate. He hung around us until we got off, as a hungry dog hangs around a tableon the chance of a bone being thrown to him; but he got no recognitionfrom Sir Gilbert, who, though the lad had been useful enough to himbefore, took no more notice of him that day than of one of the pebbles onthe beach. And if I had been more of a student of human nature, I shouldhave gained some idea of my future employer's character from that smallcircumstance, and have seen that he had no feeling or consideration foranybody unless it happened to be serving and suiting his purpose. 

But at that moment I was thinking of nothing but the pleasure of taking acruise in the yacht, in the company of a man in whom I was naturallyinterested. I was passionately fond of the sea, and had already learnedfrom the Berwick sea-going folk how to handle small craft, and themanagement of a three-oar vessel like this was an easy matter to me, as Isoon let Sir Gilbert know. Once outside the river mouth, with a nicelight breeze blowing off the land, we set squaresail, mainsail, andforesail and stood directly out to sea on as grand a day and under asfair conditions as a yachtsman could desire; and when we were gailybowling along Sir Gilbert bade me unpack the basket which had been putaboard from the hotel--it was a long time, he said, since his breakfast, and we would eat and drink at the outset of things. If I had not beenhungry myself, the sight of the provisions in that basket would have mademe so--there was everything in there that a man could desire, from coldsalmon and cold chicken to solid roast beef, and there was plenty ofclaret and whisky to wash it down with. And, considering how readily andhealthily Sir Gilbert Carstairs ate and drank, and how he talked andlaughed while we lunched side by side under that glorious sky, glidingaway over a smooth, innocent-looking sea, I have often wondered since ifwhat was to come before nightfall came of deliberate intention on hispart, or from a sudden yielding to temptation when the chance of itarose--and for the life of me I cannot decide! But if the man had murderin his heart, while he sat there at my side, eating his good food anddrinking his fine liquor, and sharing both with me and pressing me tohelp myself to his generous provision--if it was so, I say, then he wasof an indescribable cruelty which it makes me cringe to think of, and Iwould prefer to believe that the impulse to bring about my death camefrom a sudden temptation springing from a sudden chance. And yet--Godknows it is a difficult problem to settle!

For this was what it came to, and before sunset was reddening the westernskies behind the Cheviots. We went a long, long way out--far beyond thethirty-fathom line, which is, as all sailors acquainted with those watersknow, a good seven miles from shore; indeed, as I afterwards reckoned, wewere more than twice that distance from Berwick pier-end when the affairhappened--perhaps still further. We had been tacking about all theafternoon, first south, then north, not with any particular purpose, butaimlessly. We scarcely set eyes on another sail, and at a little afterseven o'clock in the evening, when there was some talk of going about andcatching the wind, which had changed a good deal since noon and was nowcoming more from the southeast, we were in the midst of a great waste ofsea in which I could not make out a sign of any craft but ours--not evena trail of smoke on the horizon. The flat of the land had long sincedisappeared: the upper slopes of the Cheviots on one side of Tweed andof the Lammermoor Hills on the other, only just showed above the line ofthe sea. There was, I say, nothing visible on all that level of scarcelystirred water but our own sails, set to catch whatever breeze there was, when that happened which not only brought me to the very gates of death, but, in the mere doing of it, gave me the greatest horror of any that Ihave ever known. 

I was standing up at the moment, one foot on the gunwale, the other onthe planking behind me, carelessly balancing myself while I stared acrossthe sea in search of some object which he--this man that I trusted sothoroughly and in whose company I had spent so many pleasant hours thatafternoon, and who was standing behind me at the moment--professed to seein the distance, when he suddenly lurched against me, as if he hadslipped and lost his footing. That was what I believed in that startlingmoment--but as I went head first overboard I was aware that his fall wasconfined to a sprawl into the scuppers. Overboard I went!--but heremained where he was. And my weight--I was weighing a good thirteenstone at that time, being a big and hefty youngster--carried me down anddown into the green water, for I had been shot over the side withconsiderable impetus. And when I came up, a couple of boat's-lengths fromthe yacht, expecting to find that he was bringing her up so that I couldscramble aboard, I saw with amazed and incredulous affright that he wasdoing nothing of the sort; instead, working at it as hard as he couldgo, he was letting out a couple of reefs which he had taken up in themainsail an hour before--in another minute they were out, the yacht movedmore swiftly, and, springing to the tiller, he deliberately steered herclear away from me. 

I suppose I saw his purpose all at once. Perhaps it drove me wild, mad, frenzied. The yacht was going away from me fast--faster; good swimmerthough I was, it was impossible for me to catch up to her--she was makingher own length to every stroke I took, and as she drew away he stoodthere, one hand on the tiller, the other in his pocket (I have oftenwondered if it was fingering a revolver in there!), his eyes turnedsteadily on me. And I began first to beg and entreat him to save me, andthen to shout out and curse him--and at that, and seeing that we werebecoming further and further separated, he deliberately put the yachtstill more before the freshening wind, and went swiftly away, and lookedat me no more. 

So he left me to drown. 

We had been talking a lot about swimming during the afternoon, and I hadtold him that though I had been a swimmer ever since boyhood, I had neverdone more than a mile at a stretch, and then only in the river. He knew, therefore, that he was leaving me a good fourteen miles from land withnot a sail in sight, not a chance of being picked up. Was it likely thatI could make land?--was there ever a probability of anything coming alongthat would sight me? There was small likelihood, anyway; the likelihoodwas that long before the darkness had come on I should be exhausted, give up, and go down. 

You may conceive with what anger, and with what fierce resentment, Iwatched this man and his yacht going fast away from me--and with whatdespair too. But even in that moment I was conscious of two facts--I nowknew that yonder was the probable murderer of both Phillips and Crone, and that he was leaving me to die because I was the one person living whocould throw some light on those matters, and, though I had kept silenceup to then, might be tempted, or induced, or obliged to do so--he wouldsilence me while he had so good a chance. And the other was, thatalthough there seemed about as much likelihood of my ever seeing Berwickagain as of being made King of England, I must do my utmost to save mystrength and my life. I had a wealth of incentives--Maisie, my mother, Mr. Lindsey, youth, the desire to live; and now there was another addedto them--the desire to circumvent that cold-hearted, cruel devil, who, Iwas now sure, had all along been up to some desperate game, and to havemy revenge and see justice done on him. I was not going to give inwithout making a fight for it. 

But it was a poor chance that I had--and I was well aware of it. Therewas small prospect of fishing boats or the like coming out that evening;small likelihood of any coasting steamer sighting a bit of a speck likeme. All the same, I was going to keep my chin up as long as possible, andthe first thing to do was to take care of my strength. I made shift todivest myself of a heavy pea-jacket that I was wearing and of theunnecessary clothing beneath it; I got rid, too, of my boots. And afterresting a bit on my back and considering matters, I decided to make a tryfor land--I might perhaps meet some boat coming out. I lifted my headwell up and took a glance at what I could see--and my heart sank at whatI did see! The yacht was a speck in the distance by that time, and farbeyond it the Cheviots and the Lammermoors were mere bits of grey outlineagainst the gold and crimson of the sky. One thought instantly filled anddepressed me--I was further from land than I had believed. 

At this distance from it I have but confused and vague recollections ofthat night. Sometimes I dream of it--even now--and wake sweating withfear. In those dreams I am toiling and toiling through a smooth sea--itis always a smooth, oily, slippery sea--towards something to which I makeno great headway. Sometimes I give up toiling through sheer and desperateaching of body and limbs, and let myself lie drifting into helplessnessand a growing sleep. And then--in my dream--I start to find myself goingdown into strange cavernous depths of shining green, and I wake--in mydream--to begin fighting and toiling again against my compelling desireto give up. 

I do not know how long I made a fight of it in reality; it must have beenfor hours--alternately swimming, alternately resting myself by floating. I had queer thoughts. It was then about the time that some men wereattempting to swim the Channel. I remember laughing grimly, wishing themjoy of their job--they were welcome to mine! I remember, too, that atlast in the darkness I felt that I must give up, and said my prayers; andit was about that time, when I was beginning to feel a certain numbnessof mind as well as weariness of body, that as I struck out in themechanical and weakening fashion which I kept up from what littledetermination I had left, I came across my salvation--in the shape of apiece of wreckage that shoved itself against me in the blackness, as ifit had been some faithful dog, pushing its nose into my hand to let meknow it was there. It was no more than a square of grating, but it washeavy and substantial; and as I clung to and climbed on to it, I knewthat it made all the difference to me between life and death. 

CHAPTER XX

THE SAMARITAN SKIPPER

I clung to that heaven-sent bit of wreckage, exhausted and weary, untilthe light began to break in the east. I was numbed and shivering withcold--but I was alive and safe. That square yard of good and solid woodwas as much to me as if it had been a floating island. And as the lightgrew and grew, and the sun at last came up, a ball of fire out of the farhorizon, I looked across the sea on all sides, hoping to catch sight of asail, or of a wisp of smoke--of anything that would tell me of the nearpresence of human beings. And one fact I realized at once--I was furtheraway from land than when I had begun my battle with death. There was nosign of land in the west. The sky was now clear and bright on all sides, but there was nothing to break the line where it met the sea. Before thefading of the light on the previous evening, I had easily made out thewell-known outlines of the Cheviots on one hand and of Says Law on theother--now there was not a vestige of either. I knew from that fact thatI had somehow drifted further and further away from the coast. There wasaccordingly nothing to do but wait the chance of being sighted and pickedup, and I set to work, as well as I could on my tiny raft, to chafe mylimbs and get some warmth into my body. And never in my life did I blessthe sun as I did that morning, for when he sprang out of bed in thenortheast skies, it was with his full and hearty vigour of highspringtide, and his heat warmed my chilled blood and sent a new glow ofhope to my heart. But that heat was not an unmixed blessing--and I wasalready parched with thirst; and as the sun mounted higher and higher, pouring his rays full upon me, the thirst became almost intolerable, andmy tongue felt as if my mouth could no longer contain it. 

It was, perhaps, one hour after sunrise, when my agony was becomingalmost insupportable, that I first noticed a wisp of smoke on thesouthern rim of the circle of sea which just then was all my world. Inever strained my eyes for anything as I did for that patch of greyagainst the cloudless blue! It grew bigger and bigger--I knew, of course, that it was some steamer, gradually approaching. But it seemed agesbefore I could make out her funnels; ages before I saw the first bit ofher black bulk show up above the level of the dancing waves. Yet thereshe was at last--coming bows on, straight in my direction. My nerves musthave given out at the sight--I remember the tears rolling down my cheeks;I remember hearing myself make strange sounds, which I suppose were thoseof relief and thankfulness. And then the horror of being unseen, of beingleft to endure more tortures of thirst, of the steamer changing hercourse, fell on me, and long before she was anywhere near me I wastrying to balance myself on the grating, so that I could stand erect andattract her attention. 

She was a very slow-going craft that--not able to do more than nine orten knots at best--and another hour passed before she was anywhere nearme. But, thank God! she came within a mile of me, and I made shift tostand up on my raft and to wave to her. And thereon she altered hercourse and lumbered over in my direction. She was one of the ugliestvessels that ever left a shipyard, but I thought I had never seenanything so beautiful in my life as she looked in those moments, and Ihad certainly never been so thankful for anything as for her solid anddirty deck when willing and kindly hands helped me up on it. 

Half an hour after that, with dry clothes on me, and hot coffee and ruminside me, I was closeted with the skipper in his cabin, telling him, under a strict pledge of secrecy, as much of my tale as I felt inclinedto share with him. He was a sympathetic and an understanding man, and heswore warmly and plentifully when he heard how treacherously I had beentreated, intimating it as the--just then--dearest wish of his heart tohave the handling of the man who had played me the trick. 

"But you'll be dealing with him yourself!" said he. "Man!--you'll notspare him--promise me you'll not spare him! And you'll send me anewspaper with the full account of all that's done to him when you've setthe law to work--dod! I hope they'll quarter him! Them was grand dayswhen there was more licence and liberty in punishing malefactors--oh! I'dlike fine to see this man put into boiling oil, or something of thatsort, the cold-hearted, murdering villain! You'll be sure to send me thenewspaper?"

I laughed--for the first time since--when? It seemed years since I hadlaughed--and yet it was only a few hours, after all. 

"Before I can set the law to work on him, I must get on dry land, captain, " I answered. "Where are you going?"

"Dundee, " he replied. "Dundee--and we're just between sixty and seventymiles away now, and it's near seven o'clock. We'll be in Dundee early inthe afternoon, anyway. And what'll you do there? You'll be for gettingthe next train to Berwick?"

"I'm not so sure, captain, " I answered. "I don't want that man to knowI'm alive--yet. It'll be a nice surprise for him--later. But there arethose that I must let know as soon as possible--so the first thing I'lldo, I'll wire. And in the meantime, let me have a sleep. "

The steamer that had picked me up was nothing but a tramp, plodding alongwith a general cargo from London to Dundee, and its accommodation was asrough as its skipper was homely. But it was a veritable palace of delightand luxury to me after that terrible night, and I was soon hard and fastasleep in the skipper's own bunk--and was still asleep when he laid ahand on me at three o'clock that afternoon. 

"We're in the Tay, " he said, "and we'll dock in half an hour. Andnow--you can't go ashore in your underclothing, man! And where'syour purse?"

He had rightly sized up the situation. I had got rid of everything butmy singlet and drawers in the attempt to keep going; as for my purse, that was where the rest of my possessions were--sunk or floating. 

"You and me's about of a build, " he remarked. "I'll fit you up with agood suit that I have, and lend you what money you want. But what is ityou're going to do?"

"How long are you going to stop here in Dundee, captain?" I asked. 

"Four days, " he answered. "I'll be discharging tomorrow, and loading thenext two days, and then I'll be away again. "

"Lend me the clothes and a sovereign, " said I. "I'll wire to myprincipal, the gentleman I told you about, to come here at once withclothes and money, so I'll repay you and hand your suit back first thingtomorrow morning, when I'll bring him to see you. "

He immediately pulled a sovereign out of his pocket, and, turning to alocker, produced a new suit of blue serge and some necessary linen. 

"Aye?" he remarked, a bit wonderingly. "You'll be for fetching him alonghere, then? And for what purpose?"

"I want him to take your evidence about picking me up, " I answered. "That's one thing--and--there's other reasons that we'll tell you aboutafterwards. And--don't tell anybody here of what's happened, and pass theword for silence to your crew. It'll be something in their pockets whenmy friend comes along. "

He was a cute man, and he understood that my object was to keep the newsof my escape from Sir Gilbert Carstairs, and he promised to do what Iasked. And before long--he and I being, as he had observed, very much ofa size, and the serge suit fitting me very well--I was in the streets ofDundee, where I had never been before, seeking out a telegraph office, and twiddling the skipper's sovereign between thumb and finger while Iworked out a problem that needed some little thought. 

I must let my mother and Maisie know of my safety--at once. I must letMr. Lindsey know, too. I knew what must have happened there at Berwick. That monstrous villain would sneak home and say that a sad accident hadhappened me. It made me grind my teeth and long to get my hands at hislying tongue when I thought of what Maisie and my mother must havesuffered after hearing his tales and excuses. But I did not want him toknow I was safe--I did not want the town to know. Should I telephone toMr. Lindsey's office, it was almost certain one of my fellow-clerks therewould answer the ring, and recognize my voice. Then everything would benoised around. And after thinking it all over I sent Mr. Lindsey atelegram in the following words, hoping that he would fully understand:--

"Keep this secret from everybody. Bring suit of clothes, linen, money, mother, and Maisie by next train to Dundee. Give post-office peopleorders not to let this out, most important. H. M. "

I read that over half a dozen times before I finally dispatched it. Itseemed all wrong, somehow--and all right in another way. And, howeverbadly put it was, it expressed my meaning. So I handed it in, and myborrowed sovereign with it, and jingling the change which was given backto me, I went out of the telegraph office to stare around me. 

It was a queer thing, but I was now as light-hearted as could be--Icaught myself laughing from a curious feeling of pleasure. The truthwas--if you want to analyse the sources--I was vastly relieved to be ableto get in touch with my own people. Within an hour, perhaps sooner, theywould have the news, and I knew well that they would lose no time insetting off to me. And finding myself just then in the neighbourhood ofthe North British Railway Station, I went in and managed to make out thatif Mr. Lindsey was at the office when my wire arrived, and acted promptlyin accordance with it, he and they could reach Dundee by a late trainthat evening. That knowledge, of course, made me in a still morelight-hearted mood. But there was another source of my satisfaction andcomplaisance: things were in a grand way now for my revenge on SirGilbert Carstairs, and what had been a mystery was one no longer. 

I went back to the dock where I had left the tramp-steamer, and told itsgood-natured skipper what I had done, for he was as much interested inthe affair as if he had been my own brother. And that accomplished, Ileft him again and went sight-seeing, having been wonderfully freshenedup and restored by my good sleep of the morning. I wandered up and downand about Dundee till I was leg-weary, and it was nearly six o'clock ofthe afternoon. And at that time, being in Bank Street, and looking aboutme for some place where I could get a cup of tea and a bite of food, Ichanced by sheer accident to see a name on a brass plate, fixed amongstmore of the same sort, on the outer door of a suite of offices. That namewas Gavin Smeaton. I recalled it at once--and, moved by a sudden impulse, I went climbing up a lot of steps to Mr. Gavin Smeaton's office. 

CHAPTER XXI

MR. GAVIN SMEATON

I walked into a room right at the top of the building, wherein a youngman of thirty or thereabouts was sitting at a desk, putting together aquantity of letters which a lad, standing at his side, was evidentlyabout to carry to the post. He was a good-looking, alert, businesslikesort of young man this, of a superior type of countenance, very welldressed, and altogether a noticeable person. What first struck me abouthim was, that though he gave me a quick glance when, having first tappedat his door and walked inside his office, I stood there confronting him, he finished his immediate concern before giving me any further attention. It was not until he had given all the letters to the lad and bade himhurry off to the post, that he turned to me with another sharp look andone word of interrogation. 

"Yes?" he said. 

"Mr. Gavin Smeaton?" asked I. 

"That's my name, " he answered. "What can I do for you?"

Up to that moment I had not the least idea as to the exact reasons whichhad led me to climb those stairs. The truth was I had acted on impulse. And now that I was actually in the presence of a man who was obviously avery businesslike and matter-of-fact sort of person, I felt awkward andtongue-tied. He was looking me over all the time as if there was a wonderin his mind about me, and when I was slow in answering he stirred a bitimpatiently in his chair. 

"My business hours are over for the day, " he said. "If it's business--"

"It's not business in the ordinary sense, Mr. Smeaton, " I made shift toget out. "But it is business for all that. The fact is--you'll rememberthat the Berwick police sent you a telegram some days ago asking did youknow anything about a man named John Phillips?"

He showed a sudden interest at that, and he regarded me with aslight smile. 

"You aren't a detective?" he inquired. 

"No--I'm a solicitor's clerk, " I replied. "From Berwick--my principal, Mr. Lindsey, has to do with that case. "

He nodded at a pile of newspapers, which stood, with a heavy book on topof it, on a side table near his desk. 

"So I see from these papers, " he remarked. "I've read all I could aboutthe affairs of both Phillips and Crone, ever since I heard that my nameand address had been found on Phillips. Has any further light beenthrown on that? Of course, there was nothing much in my name and addressbeing found on the man, nor would there be if they were found on anyman. As you see, I'm a general agent for various sorts of foreignmerchandise, and this man had likely been recommended to me--especiallyif he was from America. "

"There's been no further light on that matter, Mr. Smeaton, " Ianswered. He had pointed me to a chair at his desk side by that time, and we were mutually inspecting each other. "Nothing more has beenheard on that point. "

"Then--have you come purposely to see me about it?" he asked. 

"Not at all!" said I. "I was passing along this street below, and I sawyour name on the door, and I remembered it--and so I just came up. "

"Oh!" he said, looking at me rather blankly. "You're staying inDundee--taking a holiday?"

"I came to Dundee in a fashion I'd not like to follow on any otheroccasion!" said I. "If a man hadn't lent me this suit of clothes and asovereign, I'd have come ashore in my undergarments and without a penny. "

He stared at me more blankly than ever when I let this out on him, andsuddenly he laughed. 

"What riddle's all this?" he asked. "It sounds like a piece out of astory-book--one of those tales of adventure. "

"Aye, does it?" said I. "Only, in my case, Mr. Smeaton, fact's been a lotstranger than fiction! You've read all about this Berwick mystery in thenewspapers?"

"Every word--seeing that I was mentioned, " he answered. 

"Then I'll give you the latest chapter, " I continued. "You'll know myname when you hear it--Hugh Moneylaws. It was I discovered Phillips'sdead body. "

I saw that he had been getting more and more interested as wetalked--at the mention of my name his interest obviously increased. Andsuddenly he pulled a box of cigars towards him, took one out, andpushed the box to me. 

"Help yourself, Mr. Moneylaws--and go ahead, " he said. "I'm willing tohear as many chapters as you like of this story. "

I shook my head at the cigars and went on to tell him of all that hadhappened since the murder of Crone. He was a good listener--he took inevery detail, every point, quietly smoking while I talked, and neverinterrupting me. And when I had made an end, he threw up his head with asignificant gesture that implied much. 

"That beats all the story-books!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you'resafe, anyway, Mr. Moneylaws--and your mother and your young lady'll beglad too. "

"They will that, Mr. Smeaton, " I said. "I'm much obliged to you. "

"You think that man really meant you to drown?" he asked. 

"What would you think yourself, Mr. Smeaton?" I replied. "Besides--didn'tI see his face as he got himself and his yacht away from me? Yon man is amurderer!"

"It's a queer, strange business, " he remarked, nodding his head. "You'llbe thinking now, of course, that it was he murdered both Phillips andCrone--eh?"

"Aye, I do think that!" said I. "What else? And he wanted to silence mebecause I'm the only living person that could let out about seeing him atthe cross-roads that night and could prove that Crone saw him too. My ownimpression is that Crone went straight to him after his talk with me--andpaid the penalty. "

"That's likely, " he assented. "But what do you think made him turn on youso suddenly, yesterday, when things looked like going smoothly abouteverything, and he'd given you that stewardship--which was, of course, tostop your mouth?"

"I'll tell you, " I said. "It was Mr. Lindsey's fault--he let out too muchat the police-court. Carstairs was there--he'd a seat on the bench--andMr. Lindsey frightened him. Maybe it was yon ice-ax. Mr. Lindsey's gotsome powerful card up his sleeve about that--what it is I don't know. ButI'm certain now--now!--that Carstairs took a fear into his head at thoseproceedings yesterday morning, and he thought he'd settle me once and forall before I could be drawn into it and forced to say things that wouldbe against him. "

"I daresay you're right, " he agreed. "Well!--it is indeed a strangeaffair, and there'll be some stranger revelations yet. I'd like to seethis Mr. Lindsey--you're sure he'll come to you here?"

"Aye!--unless there's been an earthquake between here and Tweed!" Ideclared. "He'll be here, right enough, Mr. Smeaton, before many hoursare over. And he'll like to see you. You can't think, now, of how, orwhy, yon Phillips man could have got that bit of letter paper of yourson him? It was like that, " I added, pointing to a block of memorandumforms that stood in his stationery case at the desk before him. "Justthe same!"

"I can't, " said he. "But--there's nothing unusual in that; somecorrespondent of mine might have handed it to him--torn it off one of myletters, do you see? I've correspondents in a great many seaports andmercantile centres--both here and in America. "

"These men will appear to have come from Central America, " I remarked. "They'd seem to have been employed, one way or another, on that PanamaCanal affair that there's been so much in the papers about these last fewyears. You'd notice that in the accounts, Mr. Smeaton?"

"I did, " he replied. "And it interested me, because I'm from those partsmyself--I was born there. "

He said that as if this fact was of no significance. But the news made meprick up my ears. 

"Do you tell me that!" said I. "Where, now, if it's a fair question?"

"New Orleans--near enough, anyway, to those parts, " he answered. "But Iwas sent across here when I was ten years old, to be educated and broughtup, and here I've been ever since. "

"But--you're a Scotsman?" I made bold to ask him. 

"Aye--on both sides--though I was born out of Scotland, " he answered witha laugh. And then he got out of his chair. "It's mighty interesting, allthis, " he went on. "But I'm a married man, and my wife'll be wantingdinner for me. Now, will you bring Mr. Lindsey to see me in themorning--if he comes?"

"He'll come--and I'll bring him, " I answered. "He'll be right glad to seeyou, too--for it may be, Mr. Smeaton, that there is something to betraced out of that bit of letter paper of yours, yet. "

"It may be, " he agreed. "And if there's any help I can give, it's at yourdisposal. But you'll be finding this--you're in a dark lane, with somequeer turnings in it, before you come to the plain outcome of all thisbusiness!"

We went down into the street together, and after he had asked if therewas anything he could do for me that night, and I had assured him therewas not, we parted with an agreement that Mr. Lindsey and I should callat his office early next morning. When he had left me, I sought out aplace where I could get some supper, and, that over, I idled about thetown until it was time for the train from the south to get in. And I wason the platform when it came, and there was my mother and Maisie and Mr. Lindsey, and I saw at a glance that all that was filling each was sheerand infinite surprise. My mother gripped me on the instant. 

"Hugh!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here, and what does all thismean? Such a fright as you've given us! What's the meaning of it?"

I was so taken aback, having been certain that Carstairs would have gonehome and told them I was accidentally drowned, that all I could do was tostare from one to the other. As for Maisie, she only looked wonderinglyat me; as for Mr. Lindsey, he gazed at me as scrutinizingly as my motherwas doing. 

"Aye!" said he, "what's the meaning of it, young man? We've done yourbidding and more--but--why?"

I found my tongue at that. 

"What!" I exclaimed. "Haven't you seen Sir Gilbert Carstairs? Didn't youhear from him that--"

"We know nothing about Sir Gilbert Carstairs, " he interrupted. "The factis, my lad, that until your wire arrived this afternoon, nobody had evenheard of you and Sir Gilbert Carstairs since you went off in his yachtyesterday. Neither he nor the yacht have ever returned to Berwick. Whereare they?"

CHAPTER XXII

I READ MY OWN OBITUARY

It was my turn to stare again--and stare I did, from one to the other insilence, and being far too much amazed to find ready speech. And before Icould get my tongue once more, my mother, who was always remarkably sharpof eye, got her word in. 

"What're you doing in that new suit of clothes?" she demanded. "Andwhere's your own good clothes that you went away in yesterday noon? Imisdoubt this stewardship's leading you into some strange ways!"

"My own good clothes, mother, are somewhere in the North Sea, " retortedI. "Top or bottom, sunk or afloat, it's there you'll find them, if you'remore anxious about them than me! Do you tell me that Carstairs has neverbeen home?" I went on, turning to Mr. Lindsey, "Then I don't know wherehe is, nor his yacht either. All I know is that he left me to drown lastnight, a good twenty miles from land, and that it's only by a specialmercy of Providence that I'm here. Wherever he is, yon man's amurderer--I've settled that, Mr. Lindsey!"

The women began to tremble and to exclaim at this news, and to ask onequestion after another, and Mr. Lindsey shook his head impatiently. 

"We can't stand talking our affairs in the station all night, " said he. "Let's get to an hotel, my lad--we're all wanting our suppers. You don'tseem as if you were in very bad spirits, yourself. "

"I'm all right, Mr. Lindsey, " I answered cheerfully. "I've been down toJericho, it's true, and to worse, but I chanced across a good Samaritanor two. And I've looked out a clean and comfortable hotel for you, andwe'll go there now. "

I led them away to a good hotel that I had noticed in my walks, and whilethey took their suppers I sat by and told them all my adventure, to theaccompaniment of many exclamations from my mother and Maisie. But Mr. Lindsey made none, and I was quick to notice that what most interestedhim was that I had been to see Mr. Gavin Smeaton. 

"But what for did you not come straight home when you were safely onshore again?" asked my mother, who was thinking of the expense I wasputting her to. "What's the reason of fetching us all this way whenyou're alive and well?"

I looked at Mr. Lindsey--knowingly, I suppose. 

"Because, mother, " I answered her, "I believed yon Carstairs would goback to Berwick and tell that there'd been a sad accident, and I wasdead--drowned--and I wanted to let him go on thinking that I wasdead--and so I decided to keep away. And if he is alive, it'll be thebest thing to let the man still go on thinking I was drowned--as I'llprove to Mr. Lindsey there. If Carstairs is alive, I say, it's the rightpolicy for me to keep out of his sight and our neighbourhood. "

"Aye!" agreed Mr. Lindsey, who was a quick hand at taking up things. "There's something in that, Hugh. "

"Well, it's beyond me, all this, " observed my mother, "and it all comesof me taking yon Gilverthwaite into the house! But me and Maisie'll awayto our beds, and maybe you and Mr. Lindsey'll get more light out of thematter than I can, and glad I'll be when all this mystery's cleared upand we'll be able to live as honest folk should, without all this flyingabout the country and spending good money. "

I contrived to get a few minutes with Maisie, however, before she and mymother retired, and I found then that, had I known it, I need not havebeen so anxious and disturbed. For they had attached no particularimportance to the fact that I had not returned the night before; they hadthought that Sir Gilbert had sailed his yacht in elsewhere, and that Iwould be turning up later, and there had been no great to-do after meuntil my own telegram had arrived, when, of course, there wasconsternation and alarm, and nothing but hurry to catch the next trainnorth. But Mr. Lindsey had contrived to find out that nothing had beenseen of Sir Gilbert Carstairs and his yacht at Berwick; and to that pointhe and I at once turned when the women had gone to bed and I went withhim into the smoking-room while he had his pipe and his drop of whisky. By that time I had told him of the secret about the meeting at thecross-roads, and about my interview with Crone at his shop, and SirGilbert Carstairs at Hathercleugh, when he offered me the stewardship;and I was greatly relieved when Mr. Lindsey let me down lightly and saidno more than that if I'd told him these things, at first, there mighthave been a great difference. 

"But we're on the beginning of something, " he concluded. "That SirGilbert Carstairs has some connection with these murders, I'm nowconvinced--but what it is, I'm not yet certain. What I am certain aboutis that he took fright yesterday morning in our court, when I producedthat ice-ax and asked the doctor those questions about it. "

"And I'm sure of that, too, Mr. Lindsey, " said I. "And I've beenwondering what there was about yon ice-ax that frightened him. You'llknow that yourself, of course?"

"Aye, but I'm not going to tell you!" he answered. "You'll have to awaitdevelopments on that point, my man. And now we'll be getting to bed, andin the morning we'll see this Mr. Gavin Smeaton. It would be a queerthing now, wouldn't it, if we got some clue to all this through him? ButI'm keenly interested in hearing that he comes from the other side of theAtlantic, Hugh, for I've been of opinion that it's across there that thesecret of the whole thing will be found. "

They had brought me a supply of clothes and money with them, and firstthing in the morning I went off to the docks and found my Samaritanskipper, and gave him back his sovereign and his blue serge suit, withmy heartiest thanks and a promise to keep him fully posted up in thedevelopment of what he called the case. And then I went back tobreakfast with the rest of them, and at once there was the question ofwhat was to be done. My mother was all for going homeward as quickly aspossible, and it ended up in our seeing her and Maisie away by the nexttrain; Mr. Lindsey having made both swear solemnly that they would notdivulge one word of what had happened, nor reveal the fact that I wasalive, to any living soul but Andrew Dunlop, who, of course, could betrusted. And my mother agreed, though the proposal was anything butpleasant or proper to her. 

"You're putting on me more than any woman ought to be asked to bear, Mr. Lindsey, " said she, as we saw them into the train. "You're asking me togo home and behave as if we didn't know whether the lad was alive ordead. I'm not good at the playacting, and I'm far from sure that it'seither truthful or honest to be professing things that isn't so. And I'llbe much obliged to you if you'll get all this cleared up, and let Hughthere settle down to his work in the proper way, instead of wanderingabout on business that's no concern of his. "

We shook our heads at each other as the train went off, Maisie wavinggood-bye to us, and my mother sitting very stiff and stern anddisapproving in her corner of the compartment. 

"No concern of yours, d'ye hear, my lad?" laughed Mr. Lindsey. "Aye, butyour mother forgets that in affairs of this sort a lot of people aredrawn in where they aren't concerned! It's like being on the edge of awhirlpool--you're dragged into it before you're aware. And now we'll goand see this Mr. Smeaton; but first, where's the telegraph office in thisstation? I want to wire to Murray, to ask him to keep me posted up duringtoday if any news comes in about the yacht. "

When Mr. Lindsey was in the telegraph office, I bought that morning's_Dundee Advertiser_, more to fill up a few spare moments than from anyparticular desire to get the news, for I was not a great newspaperreader. I had scarcely opened it when I saw my own name. And there Istood, in the middle of the bustling railway station, enjoying thesensation of reading my own obituary notice. 

"Our Berwick-on-Tweed correspondent, telegraphing late last night, says:--Considerable anxiety is being felt in the town respecting the fateof Sir Gilbert Carstairs, Bart. , of Hathercleugh House, and Mr. HughMoneylaws, who are feared to have suffered a disaster at sea. At noonyesterday, Sir Gilbert, accompanied by Mr. Moneylaws, went out in theformer's yacht (a small vessel of light weight) for a sail which, according to certain fishermen who were about when the yacht left, was tobe one of a few hours only. The yacht had not returned last night, norhas it been seen or heard of since its departure. Various Berwickfishing craft have been out well off the coast during today, but notidings of the missing gentlemen have come to hand. Nothing has beenheard of, or from, Sir Gilbert at Hathercleugh up to nine o'clock thisevening, and the only ray of hope lies in the fact that Mr. Moneylaws'mother left the town hurriedly this afternoon--possibly having receivedsome news of her son. It is believed here, however, that the light vesselwas capsized in a sudden squall, and that both occupants have lost theirlives. Sir Gilbert Carstairs, who was the seventh baronet, had onlyrecently come to the neighbourhood on succeeding to the title andestates. Mr. Moneylaws, who was senior clerk to Mr. Lindsey, solicitor, of Berwick, was a very promising young man of great ability, and hadrecently been much before the public eye as a witness in connection withthe mysterious murders of John Phillips and Abel Crone, which are stillattracting so much attention. "

I shoved the newspaper into Mr. Lindsey's hand as he came out of thetelegraph office. He read the paragraph in silence, smiling as he read. 

"Aye!" he said at last, "you have to leave home to get the home news. Well--they're welcome to be thinking that for the present. I've justwired Murray that I'll be here till at any rate this evening, and thathe's to telegraph at once if there's tidings of that yacht or ofCarstairs. Meanwhile, well go and see this Mr. Smeaton. "

Mr. Smeaton was expecting us--he, too, was reading about me in the_Advertiser_ when we entered, and he made some joking remark about itonly being great men that were sometimes treated to death-notices beforethey were dead. And then he turned to Mr. Lindsey, who I noticed had beentaking close stock of him. 

"I've been thinking out things since Mr. Moneylaws was in here lastnight, " he remarked. "Bringing my mind to bear, do you see, on certainpoints that I hadn't thought of before. And maybe there's something morethan appears at first sight in yon man John Phillips having my name andaddress on him. "

"Aye?" asked Mr. Lindsey, quietly. "How, now?"

"Well, " replied Mr. Smeaton, "there may be something in it, and there maybe nothing--just nothing at all. But it's the fact that my father hailedfrom Tweedside--and from some place not so far from Berwick. "

CHAPTER XXIII

FAMILY HISTORY

I was watching Mr. Lindsey pretty closely, being desirous of seeing howhe took to Mr. Gavin Smeaton, and what he made of him, and I saw himprick his ears at this announcement; clearly, it seemed to suggestsomething of interest to him. 

"Aye?" he exclaimed. "Your father hailed from Berwick, or thereabouts?You don't know exactly from where, Mr. Smeaton?"

"No, I don't, " replied Smeaton, promptly. "The truth is, strange as itmay seem, Mr. Lindsey, I know precious little about my father, and what Ido know is mostly from hearsay. I've no recollection of having ever seenhim. And--more wondrous still, you'll say--I don't know whether he'salive or dead!"

Here, indeed, was something that bordered on the mysterious; and Mr. Lindsey and myself, who had been dealing in that commodity to someconsiderable degree of late, exchanged glances. And Smeaton saw us lookat each other, and he smiled and went on. 

"I was thinking all this out last night, " he said, "and it came to me--Iwonder if that man, John Phillips, who had, as I hear, my name andaddress in his pocket, could have been some man who was coming to seeme on my father's behalf, or--it's an odd thing to fancy, and, considering what's happened him, not a pleasant one!--could have been myfather himself?"

There was silence amongst us for a moment. This was a new vista downwhich we were looking, and it was full of thick shadow. As for me, Ibegan to recollect things. According to the evidence which Chisholm hadgot from the British Linen Bank at Peebles, John Phillips had certainlycome from Panama. Just as certainly he had made for Tweedside. And--withequal certainty--nobody at all had come forward to claim him, to assertkinship with him, though there had been the widest publicity given to thecircumstances of his murder. In Gilverthwaite's instance, his sister hadquickly turned up--to see what there was for her. Phillips had been justas freely mentioned in the newspapers as Gilverthwaite; but no one hadmade inquiries after him, though there was a tidy sum of money of his inthe Peebles bank for his next-of-kin to claim. Who was he, then?

Mr. Lindsey was evidently deep in thought, or, I should perhaps say, insurmise. And he seemed to arrive where I did--at a question; which was, of course, just that which Smeaton had suggested. 

"I might answer that better if I knew what you could tell me about yourfather, Mr. Smeaton, " he said. "And--about yourself. "

"I'll tell you all I can, with pleasure, " answered Smeaton. "To tell youthe truth, I never attached much importance to this matter, in spite ofmy name and address being found on Phillips, until Mr. Moneylaws therecame in last night--and then, after what he told me, I did begin to thinkpretty deeply over it, and I'm coming to the opinion that there's a lotmore in all this than appears on the surface. "

"You can affirm that with confidence!" remarked Mr. Lindsey, drily. "There is!"

"Well--about my father, " continued Smeaton. "All I know is this--and Igot it from hearsay: His name--the name given to me, anyway--was MartinSmeaton. He hailed from somewhere about Berwick. Whether it was on theEnglish side or the Scottish side of the Tweed I don't know. But hewent to America as a young man, with a young wife, and they were in NewOrleans when I was born. And when I was born, my mother died. So Inever saw her. "

"Do you know her maiden name?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"No more than that her Christian name was Mary, " replied Smeaton. "You'll find out as I go on that it's very little I do know ofanything--definitely. Well, when my mother died, my father evidently leftNew Orleans and went off travelling. I've made out that he must have beena regular rolling stone at all times--a man that couldn't rest long inone place. But he didn't take me with him. There was a Scotsman and hiswife in New Orleans that my father had forgathered with--some people ofthe name of Watson, --and he left me with them, and in their care in NewOrleans I remained till I was ten years old. From my recollection heevidently paid them well for looking after me--there was never, at anytime, any need of money on my account. And of course, never having knownany other, I came to look on the Watsons as father and mother. When I wasten years old they returned to Scotland--here to Dundee, and I came withthem. I have a letter or two that my father wrote at that time givinginstructions as to what was to be done with me. I was to have the besteducation--as much as I liked and was capable of--and, though I didn'tthen, and don't now, know all the details, it's evident he furnishedWatson with plenty of funds on my behalf. We came here to Dundee, and Iwas put to the High School, and there I stopped till I was eighteen, andthen I had two years at University College. Now, the odd thing was thatall that time, though I knew that regular and handsome remittances cameto the Watsons on my behalf from my father, he never expressed anywishes, or made any suggestions, as to what I should do with myself. ButI was all for commercial life; and when I left college, I went into anoffice here in the town and began to study the ins and outs of foreigntrade. Then, when I was just twenty-one, my father sent me a considerablesum--two thousand pounds, as a matter of fact--saying it was for me tostart business with. And, do you know, Mr. Lindsey, from that day--nowten years ago--to this, I've never heard a word of him. "

Mr. Lindsey was always an attentive man in a business interview, but Ihad never seen him listen to anybody so closely as he listened to Mr. Smeaton. And after his usual fashion, he at once began to ask questions. 

"Those Watsons, now, " he said. "They're living?"

"No, " replied Smeaton. "Both dead--a few years ago. "

"That's a pity, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. "But you'll have recollections ofwhat they told you about your father from their own remembrance of him?"

"They'd little to tell, " said Smeaton. "I made out they knew very littleindeed of him, except that he was a tall, fine-looking fellow, evidentlyof a superior class and education. Of my mother they knew less. "

"You'll have letters of your father's?" suggested Mr. Lindsey. 

"Just a few mere scraps--he was never a man who did more than write downwhat he wanted doing, and as briefly as possible, " replied Smeaton. "Infact, " he added, with a laugh, "his letters to me were what you mightcall odd. When the money came that I mentioned just now, be wrote me theshortest note--I can repeat every word of it: 'I've sent Watson twothousand pounds for you, ' he wrote. 'You can start yourself in businesswith it, as I hear you're inclined that way, and some day I'll come overand see how you're getting along. ' That was all!"

"And you've never heard of or from him since?" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "That's a strange thing, now. But--where was he then? Where did he sendthe money from?"

"New York, " replied Smeaton. "The other letters I have from him are fromplaces in both North and South America. It always seemed to me and theWatsons that he was never in any place for long--always going about. "

"I should like to see those letters, Mr. Smeaton, " said Mr. Lindsey. "Especially the last one. "

"They're at my house, " answered Smeaton. "I'll bring them down here thisafternoon, and show them to you if you'll call in. But now--do you thinkthis man Phillips may have been my father?"

"Well, " replied Mr. Lindsey, reflectively, "it's an odd thing thatPhillips, whoever he was, drew five hundred pounds in cash out of theBritish Linen Bank at Peebles, and carried it straight away toTweedside--where you believe your father came from. It looks as ifPhillips had meant to do something with that cash--to give it tosomebody, you know. "

"I read the description of Phillips in the newspapers, " remarked Smeaton. "But, of course, it conveyed nothing to me. "

"You've no photograph of your father?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"No--none--never had, " answered Smeaton. "Nor any papers of his--exceptthose bits of letters. "

Mr. Lindsey sat in silence for a time, tapping the point of his stick onthe floor and staring at the carpet. 

"I wish we knew what that man Gilverthwaite was wanting at Berwick and inthe district!" he said at last. 

"But isn't that evident?" suggested Smeaton. "He was looking in theparish registers. I've a good mind to have a search made in thosequarters for particulars of my father. "

Mr. Lindsey gave him a sharp look. 

"Aye!" he said, in a rather sly fashion. "But--you don't know if yourfather's real name was Smeaton!"

Both Smeaton and myself started at that--it was a new idea. And I sawthat it struck Smeaton with great force. 

"True!" he replied, after a pause. "I don't! It might have been. And inthat case--how could one find out what it was?"

Mr. Lindsey got up, shaking his head. 

"A big job!" he answered. "A stiff job! You'd have to work back a longway. But--it could be done. What time can I look in this afternoon, Mr. Smeaton, to get a glance at those letters?"

"Three o'clock, " replied Smeaton. He walked to the door of his officewith us, and he gave me a smile. "You're none the worse for youradventure, I see, " he remarked. "Well, what about this manCarstairs--what news of him?"

"We'll maybe be able to tell you some later in the day, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "There'll be lots of news about him, one way or another, beforewe're through with all this. "

We went out into the street then, and at his request I took Mr. Lindseyto the docks, to see the friendly skipper, who was greatly delighted totell the story of my rescue. We stopped on his ship talking with himfor a good part of the morning, and it was well past noon when we wentback to the hotel for lunch. And the first thing we saw there was atelegram for Mr. Lindsey. He tore the envelope open as we stood in thehall, and I made no apology for looking over his shoulder and readingthe message with him. 

"Just heard by wire from Largo police that small yacht answeringdescription of Carstairs' has been brought in there by fishermen whofound it early this morning in Largo Bay, empty. "

We looked at each other. And Mr. Lindsey suddenly laughed. 

"Empty!" he exclaimed. "Aye!--but that doesn't prove that theman's dead!"

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SUIT OF CLOTHES

Mr. Lindsey made no further remark until we were half through ourlunch--and it was not to me that he then spoke, but to a waiter who wasjust at his elbow. 

"There's three things you can get me, " he said. "Our bill--a railwayguide--a map of Scotland. Bring the map first. "

The man went away, and Mr. Lindsey bent across the table. 

"Largo is in Fife, " said he. "We'll go there. I'm going to see thatyacht with my own eyes, and hear with my own ears what the man who foundit has got to say. For, as I remarked just now, my lad, the mere factthat the yacht was found empty doesn't prove that Carstairs has beendrowned! And well just settle up here, and go round and see Smeaton toget a look at those letters, and then we'll take train to Largo and makea bit of inquiry. "

Mr. Smeaton had the letters spread out on his desk when we went in, andMr. Lindsey looked them over. There were not more than half a dozenaltogether, and they were mere scraps, as he had said--usually a fewlines on half-sheets of paper. Mr. Lindsey appeared to take no greatnotice of any of them but the last--the one that Smeaton had quoted to usin the morning. But over that he bent for some time, examining itclosely, in silence. 

"I wish you'd lend me this for a day or two, " he said at last. "I'll takethe greatest care of it; it shan't go out of my own personal possession, and I'll return it by registered post. The fact is, Mr. Smeaton, I wantto compare that writing with some other writing. "

"Certainly, " agreed Smeaton, handing the letter over. "I'll do anything Ican to help. I'm beginning, you know, Mr. Lindsey, to fear I'm mixed upin this. You'll keep me informed?"

"I can give you some information now, " answered Mr. Lindsey, pulling outthe telegram. "There's more mystery, do you see? And Moneylaws and I areoff to Largo now--we'll take it on our way home. For by this and that, I'm going to know what's become of Sir Gilbert Carstairs!"

We presently left Mr. Gavin Smeaton, with a promise to keep him postedup, and a promise on his part that he'd come to Berwick, if that seemednecessary; and then we set out on our journey. It was not such an easybusiness to get quickly to Largo, and the afternoon was wearing well intoevening when we reached it, and found the police official who had wiredto Berwick. There was not much that he could tell us, of his ownknowledge. The yacht, he said, was now lying in the harbour at LowerLargo, where it had been brought in by a fisherman named AndrewRobertson, to whom he offered to take us. Him we found at a little inn, near the harbour--a taciturn, somewhat sour-faced fellow who showed nogreat desire to talk, and would probably have given us scant informationif we had not been accompanied by the police official, though hebrightened up when Mr. Lindsey hinted at the possibility of reward. 

"When did you come across this yacht?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Between eight and nine o'clock this morning, " replied Robertson. 

"And where?"

"About seven miles out--a bit outside the bay. "

"Empty?" demanded Mr. Lindsey, looking keenly at the man. "Not asoul in her?"

"Not a soul!" answered Robertson. "Neither alive nor dead!"

"Were her sails set at all?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"They were not. She was just drifting--anywhere, " replied the man. "And Iput a line to her and brought her in. "

"Any other craft than yours about at the time?" inquired Mr. Lindsey. 

"Not within a few miles, " said Robertson. 

We went off to the yacht then. She had been towed into a quiet corner ofthe harbour, and an old fellow who was keeping guard over her assured usthat nobody but the police had been aboard her since Robertson broughther in. We, of course, went aboard, Mr. Lindsey, after being assured byme that this really was Sir Gilbert Carstairs' yacht, remarking that hedidn't know we could do much good by doing so. But I speedily made adiscovery of singular and significant importance. Small as she was, theyacht possessed a cabin--there was no great amount of head-room in it, it's true, and a tall man could not stand upright in it, but it wasspacious for a craft of that size, and amply furnished with shelving andlockers. And on these lockers lay the clothes--a Norfolk suit of greytweed--in which Sir Gilbert Carstairs had set out with me from Berwick. 

I let out a fine exclamation when I saw that, and the other three turnedand stared at me. 

"Mr. Lindsey!" said I, "look here! Those are the clothes he was wearingwhen I saw the last of him. And there's the shirt he had on, too, and theshoes. Wherever he is, and whatever happened to him, he made a completechange of linen and clothing before he quitted the yacht! That's a plainfact, Mr. Lindsey!"

A fact it was--and one that made me think, however it affected theothers. It disposed, for instance, of any notion or theory of suicide. Aman doesn't change his clothes if he's going to drown himself. And itlooked as if this had been part of some premeditated plan: at the veryleast of it, it was a curious thing. 

"You're sure of that?" inquired Mr. Lindsey, eyeing the things that hadbeen thrown aside. 

"Dead sure of it!" said I. "I couldn't be mistaken. "

"Did he bring a portmanteau or anything aboard with him, then?" askedhe. 

"He didn't; but he could have kept clothes and linen and the like inthese lockers, " I pointed out, beginning to lift the lids. "Seehere!--here's brushes and combs and the like. I tell you before everhe left this yacht, or fell out of it, or whatever's happened him, he'd changed everything from his toe to his top--there's the very caphe was wearing. "

They all looked at each other, and Mr. Lindsey's gaze finally fasteneditself on Andrew Robertson. 

"I suppose you don't know anything about this, my friend?" he asked. 

"What should I know?" answered Robertson, a bit surlily. "The yacht'sjust as I found it--not a thing's been touched. "

There was the luncheon basket lying on the cabin table--just as I hadlast seen it, except that Carstairs had evidently finished the provisionswhich he and I had left. And I think the same thought occurred to Mr. Lindsey and myself at the same moment--how long had he stopped on boardthat yacht after his cruel abandoning of me? For forty-eight hours hadelapsed since that episode, and in forty-eight hours a man may do a greatdeal in the way of making himself scarce--which now seemed to me to beprecisely what Sir Gilbert Carstairs had done, though in what particularfashion, and exactly why, it was beyond either of us to surmise. 

"I suppose no one has heard anything of this yacht having been seendrifting about yesterday, or during last night?" asked Mr. Lindsey, putting his question to both men. "No talk of it hereabouts?"

But neither the police nor Andrew Robertson had heard a murmur of thatnature, and there was evidently nothing to be got out of them more thanwe had already got. Nor had the police heard of any stranger being seenabout there--though, as the man who was with us observed, there was nogreat likelihood of anybody noticing a stranger, for Largo was nowadays asomewhat popular seaside resort, and down there on the beach there weremany strangers, it being summer, and holiday time, so that a strange manmore or less would pass unobserved. 

"Supposing a man landed about the coast, here, " asked Mr. Lindsey--"I'mjust putting a case to you--and didn't go into the town, but walked alongthe beach--where would he strike a railway station, now?"

The police official replied that there were railway stations to theright and left of the bay--a man could easily make Edinburgh in onedirection, and St. Andrews in the other; and then, not unnaturally, hewas wanting to know if Mr. Lindsey was suggesting that Sir GilbertCarstairs had sailed his yacht ashore, left it, and that it had driftedout to sea again?

"I'm not suggesting anything, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "I'm onlyspeculating on possibilities. And that's about as idle work asstanding here talking. What will be practical will be to arrangeabout this yacht being locked up in some boat-house, and we'd bestsee to that at once. "

We made arrangements with the owner of a boat-house to pull the yacht inthere, and to keep her under lock and key, and, after settling matterswith the police to have an eye on her, and see that her contents wereuntouched until further instructions reached them from Berwick, we wentoff to continue our journey. But we had stayed so long in Largo that whenwe got to Edinburgh the last train for Berwick had gone, and we wereobliged to turn into an hotel for the night. Naturally, all our talk wasof what had just transpired--the events of the last two days, said Mr. Lindsey, only made these mysteries deeper than they were before, and whySir Gilbert Carstairs should have abandoned his yacht, as he doubtlesshad, was a still further addition to the growing problem. 

"And I'm not certain, my lad, that I believe yon man Robertson's tale, "he remarked, as we were discussing matters from every imaginable point ofview just before going to bed. "He may have brought the yacht in, but wedon't know that he didn't bring Carstairs aboard her. Why was that changeof clothes made? Probably because he knew that he'd be described aswearing certain things, and he wanted to come ashore in other things. Foraught we know, he came safely ashore, boarded a train somewhere in theneighbourhood, or at Largo itself--why not?--and went off, likely here, to Edinburgh--where he'd mingle with a few thousand of folk, unnoticed. "

"Then--in that case, you think he's--what, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked. "Do youmean he's running away?"

"Between you and me, that's not far from what I do think, " he replied. "And I think I know what he's running away from, too! But we'll hear alot more before many hours are over, or I'm mistaken. "

We were in Berwick at an early hour next morning, and we went straight tothe police station and into the superintendent's office. Chisholm waswith Mr. Murray when we walked in, and both men turned to us witheagerness. 

"Here's more mystery about this affair, Mr. Lindsey!" exclaimed Murray. "It's enough to make a man's wits go wool-gathering. There's no news ofSir Gilbert, and Lady Carstairs has been missing since twelve o'clocknoon yesterday!"

CHAPTER XXV

THE SECOND DISAPPEARANCE

Mr. Lindsey was always one of the coolest of hands at receiving news of astartling nature, and now, instead of breaking out into exclamations, hejust nodded his head, and dropped into the nearest chair. 

"Aye?" he remarked quietly. "So her ladyship's disappeared, too, has she?And when did you get to hear that, now?"

"Half an hour ago, " replied Murray. "The butler at Hathercleugh Househas just been in--driven over in a hurry--to tell us. What do you makeof it at all?"

"Before I answer that, I want to know what's been happening here whileI've been away, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "What's happened within your ownprovince--officially, I mean?"

"Not much, " answered Murray. "There began to be talk evening before last, amongst the fishermen, about Sir Gilbert's yacht. He'd been seen, ofcourse, to go out with Moneylaws there, two days ago, at noon. And--thereis Moneylaws! Doesn't he know anything? Where's Sir Gilbert, Moneylaws?"

"He'll tell all that--when I tell him to, " said Mr. Lindsey, with aglance at me. "Go on with your story, first. "

The superintendent shook his head, as if all these things were beyond hiscomprehension. 

"Oh, well!" he continued. "I tell you there was talk--you know how theygossip down yonder on the beach. It was said the yacht had never come in, and, though many of them had been out, they'd never set eyes on her, andrumours of her soon began to spread. So I sent Chisholm there out toHathercleugh to make some inquiry--tell Mr. Lindsey what you heard, " hewent on, turning to the sergeant. "Not much, I think. "

"Next to nothing, " replied Chisholm. "I saw Lady Carstairs. She laughedat me. She said Sir Gilbert was not likely to come to harm--he'd beensailing yachts, big and little, for many a year, and he'd no doubt gonefurther on this occasion than he'd first intended. I pointed out thathe'd Mr. Moneylaws with him, and that he'd been due at his business earlythat morning. She laughed again at that, and said she'd no doubt SirGilbert and Mr. Moneylaws had settled that matter between them, and that, as she'd no anxieties, she was sure Berwick folk needn't have any. And soI came away. "

"And we heard no more until we got your wire yesterday from Dundee, Mr. Lindsey, " said Murray; "and that was followed not so very long after byone from the police at Largo, which I reported to you. "

"Now, here's an important question, " put in Mr. Lindsey, a bithurriedly, as if something had just struck him. "Did you communicate thenews from Largo to Hathercleugh?"

"We did, at once, " answered Murray. "I telephoned immediately to LadyCarstairs--I spoke to her over the wire myself, telling her what theLargo police reported. "

"What time would that be?" asked Mr. Lindsey, sharply. 

"Half-past eleven, " replied Murray. 

"Then, according to what you tell me, she left Hathercleugh soon afteryou telephoned to her?" said Mr. Lindsey. 

"According to what the butler told us this morning, " answered Murray, "Lady Carstairs went out on her bicycle at exactly noon yesterday--andshe's never been seen or heard of since. "

"She left no message at the house?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"None! And, " added the superintendent, significantly, "she didn't mentionto the butler that I'd just telephoned to her. It's a queer business, this, I'm thinking, Mr. Lindsey. But--what's your own news?--and what'sMoneylaws got to tell about Sir Gilbert?"

Mr. Lindsey took no notice of the last question. He sat in silence for awhile, evidently thinking. And in the end he pointed to some telegramforms that lay on the superintendent's desk. 

"There's one thing must be done at once, Murray, " he said; "and I'lltake the responsibility of doing it myself. We must communicate with theCarstairs family solicitors. "

"I'd have done it, as soon as the butler brought me the news about LadyCarstairs, " remarked Murray, "but I don't know who they are. "

"I do!" answered Mr. Lindsey. "Holmshaw and Portlethorpe of Newcastle. Here, " he went on, passing a telegram form to me. "Write out thismessage: 'Sir Gilbert and Lady Carstairs are both missing fromHathercleugh under strange circumstances please send some authorizedperson here at once. ' Sign that with my name, Hugh--and take it to thepost-office, and come back here. "

When I got back, Mr. Lindsey had evidently told Murray and Chisholm allabout my adventures with Sir Gilbert, and the two men regarded me with anew interest as if I had suddenly become a person of the firstimportance. And the superintendent at once fell upon me for my reticence. 

"You made a bad mistake, young man, in keeping back what you ought tohave told at the inquest on Phillips!" he said, reprovingly. "Indeed, youought to have told it before that--you should have told us. "

"Aye!--if I'd only known as much as that, " began Chisholm, "I'd have--"

"You'd probably have done just what he did!" broke in Mr. Lindsey--"heldyour tongue till you knew more!--so let that pass--the lad did what hethought was for the best. You never suspected Sir Gilbert of any sharein these affairs, either of you--so come, now!"

"Why, as to that, Mr. Lindsey, " remarked Murray, who looked somewhatnettled by this last passage, "you didn't suspect him yourself--or, ifyou did, you kept it uncommonly quiet!"

"Does Mr. Lindsey suspect him now?" asked Chisholm, a bit maliciously. "For if he does, maybe he'll give us a hand. "

Mr. Lindsey looked at both of them in a way that he had of looking atpeople of whose abilities he had no very great idea--but there was someindulgence in the look on this occasion. 

"Well, now that things have come to this pass, " he said, "and after SirGilbert's deliberate attempt to get rid of Moneylaws--to murder him, infact--I don't mind telling you the truth. I do suspect Sir Gilbert of themurder of Crone--and that's why I produced that ice-ax in court the otherday. And--when he saw that ice-ax, he knew that I suspected him, andthat's why he took Moneylaws out with him, intending to rid himself of aman that could give evidence against him. If I'd known that Moneylaws wasgoing with him, I'd have likely charged Sir Gilbert there andthen!--anyway, I wouldn't have let Moneylaws go. "

"Aye!--you know something, then?" exclaimed Murray. "You're in possessionof some evidence that we know nothing about?"

"I know this--and I'll make you a present of it, now, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "As you're aware, I'm a bit of a mountaineer--you know thatI've spent a good many of my holidays in Switzerland, climbing. Consequently, I know what alpenstocks and ice-axes are. And when I cameto reflect on the circumstances of Crone's murder, I remember that not solong since, happening to be out along the riverside, I chanced across SirGilbert Carstairs using a very late type of ice-ax as a walking-stick--ashe well could do, and might have picked up in his hall as some men'llpick up a golf-stick to go walking with, and I've done that myself, hundred of times. And I knew that I had an ice-ax of that very pattern athome--and so I just shoved it under the doctor's nose in court, and askedhim if that hole in Crone's head couldn't have been made by the spike ofit. Why? Because I knew that Carstairs would be present in court, and Iwanted to see if he would catch what I was after!"

"And--you think he did?" asked the superintendent, eagerly. 

"I kept the corner of an eye on him, " answered Mr. Lindsey, knowingly. "He saw what I was after! He's a clever fellow, that--but he took themask off his face for the thousandth part of a second. I saw!"

The two listeners were so amazed by this that they sat in silence for awhile, staring at Mr. Lindsey with open-mouthed amazement. 

"It's a dark, dark business!" sighed Murray at last. "What's the truemeaning of it, do you think, Mr. Lindsey?"

"Some secret that's being gradually got at, " replied Mr. Lindsey, promptly. "That's what it is. And there's nothing to do, just now, butwait until somebody comes from Holmshaw and Portlethorpe's. Holmshaw isan old man--probably Portlethorpe himself will come along. He may knowsomething--they've been family solicitors to the Carstairs lot for many ayear. But it's my impression that Sir Gilbert Carstairs is away!--andthat his wife's after him. And if you want to be doing something, try tofind out where she went on her bicycle yesterday--likely, she rode tosome station in the neighbourhood, and then took train. "

Mr. Lindsey and I then went to the office, and we had not been there longwhen a telegram arrived from Newcastle. Mr. Portlethorpe himself wascoming on to Berwick immediately. And in the middle of the afternoon hearrived--a middle-aged, somewhat nervous-mannered man, whom I had seentwo or three times when we had business at the Assizes, and whom Mr. Lindsey evidently knew pretty well, judging by their familiar manner ofgreeting each other. 

"What's all this, Lindsey?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe, as soon as he walkedin, and without any preliminaries. "Your wire says Sir Gilbert and LadyCarstairs have disappeared. Does that mean--"

"Did you read your newspaper yesterday?" interrupted Mr. Lindsey, whoknew that what we had read in the _Dundee Advertiser_ had also appearedin the _Newcastle Daily Chronicle_. "Evidently not, Portlethorpe, oryou'd have known, in part at any rate, what my wire meant. But I'll tellyou in a hundred words--and then I'll ask you a couple of questionsbefore we go any further. "

He gave Mr. Portlethorpe an epitomized account of the situation, and Mr. Portlethorpe listened attentively to the end. And without making anycomment he said three words:

"Well--your questions?"

"The first, " answered Mr. Lindsey, "is this--How long is it since you sawor heard from Sir Gilbert Carstairs?"

"A week--by letter, " replied Mr. Portlethorpe. 

"The second, " continued Mr. Lindsey, "is much more important--much! What, Portlethorpe, do you know of Sir Gilbert Carstairs?"

Mr. Portlethorpe hesitated a moment. Then he replied, frankly and withevident candour. 

"To tell you the truth, Lindsey, " he said, "beyond knowing that he is SirGilbert Carstairs--nothing!"

CHAPTER XXVI

MRS. RALSTON OF CRAIG

Mr. Lindsey made no remark on this answer, and for a minute or two he andMr. Portlethorpe sat looking at each other. Then Mr. Portlethorpe bentforward a little, his hands on his knees, and gave Mr. Lindsey a sort ofquizzical but earnest glance. 

"Now, why do you ask that last question?" he said quietly. "You'vesome object?"

"It's like this, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "Here's a man comes into theseparts to take up a title and estates, who certainly had been out ofthem for thirty years. His recent conduct is something more thansuspicious--no one can deny that he left my clerk there to drown, withoutpossibility of help! That's intended murder! And so I ask, What do you, his solicitor, know of him--his character, his doings during the thirtyyears he was away? And you answer--nothing!"

"Just so!" assented Mr. Portlethorpe. "And nobody does hereabouts. Exceptthat he is Sir Gilbert Carstairs, nobody in these parts knows anythingabout him--how should they? We, I suppose, know more than anybody--and weknow just a few bare facts. "

"I think you'll have to let me know what these bare facts are, " remarkedMr. Lindsey. "And Moneylaws, too. Moneylaws has a definite charge tobring against this man--and he'll bring it, if I've anything to do withit! He shall press it!--if he can find Carstairs. And I think you'dbetter tell us what you know, Portlethorpe. Things have got to come out. "

"I've no objection to telling you and Mr. Moneylaws what we know, "answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "After all, it is, in a way, commonknowledge--to some people, at any rate. And to begin with, you areprobably aware that the recent history of this Carstairs family is aqueer one. You know that old Sir Alexander had two sons and onedaughter--the daughter being very much younger than her brothers. Whenthe two sons, Michael and Gilbert, were about from twenty-one totwenty-three, both quarrelled with their father, and cleared out of thisneighbourhood altogether; it's always believed that Sir Alexander gaveMichael a fair lot of money to go and do for himself, each hating theother's society, and that Michael went off to America. As to Gilbert, hegot money at that time, too, and went south, and was understood to befirst a medical student and then a doctor, in London and abroad. Thereis no doubt at all that both sons did get money--considerableamounts, --because from the time they went away, no allowance was everpaid to them, nor did Sir Alexander ever have any relations with them. What the cause of the quarrel was, nobody knows; but the quarrel itself, and the ensuing separation, were final--father and sons never resumedrelations. And when the daughter, now Mrs. Ralston of Craig, near here, grew up and married, old Sir Alexander pursued a similar money policytowards her--he presented her with thirty thousand pounds the day she wasmarried, and told her she'd never have another penny from him. I tellyou, he was a queer man. "

"Queer lot altogether!" muttered Mr. Lindsey. "And interesting!"

"Oh, it's interesting enough!" agreed Mr. Portlethorpe, with a chuckle. "Deeply so. Well, that's how things were until about a year before oldSir Alexander died--which, as you know, is fourteen months since. As Isay, about six years before his death, formal notice came of the death ofMichael Carstairs, who, of course, was next in succession to the title. It came from a solicitor in Havana, where Michael had died--there wereall the formal proofs. He had died unmarried and intestate, and hisestate amounted to about a thousand pounds. Sir Alexander put the affairin our hands; and of course, as he was next-of-kin to his eldest son, what there was came to him. And we then pointed out to him that now thatMr. Michael Carstairs was dead, Mr. Gilbert came next--he would get thetitle, in any case--and we earnestly pressed Sir Alexander to make awill. And he was always going to, and he never did--and he diedintestate, as you know. And at that, of course, Sir Gilbert Carstairscame forward, and--"

"A moment, " interrupted Mr. Lindsey. "Did anybody know where he was atthe time of his father's death?"

"Nobody hereabouts, at any rate, " replied Mr. Portlethorpe. "Neitherhis father, nor his sister, nor ourselves had heard of him for many along year. But he called on us within twenty-four hours of hisfather's death. "

"With proof, of course, that he was the man he represented himself tobe?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Oh, of course--full proof!" answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "Papers, letters, all that sort of thing--all in order. He had been living in London for ayear or two at that time; but, according to his own account, he had gonepretty well all over the world during the thirty years' absence. He'dbeen a ship's surgeon--he'd been attached to the medical staff of morethan one foreign army, and had seen service--he'd been on one or twovoyages of discovery--he'd lived in every continent--in fact, he'd had avery adventurous life, and lately he'd married a rich American heiress. "

"Oh, Lady Carstairs is an American, is she?" remarked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Just so--haven't you met her?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe. 

"Never set eyes on her that I know of, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "But go on. "

"Well, of course, there was no doubt of Sir Gilbert's identity, "continued Mr. Portlethorpe; "and as there was also no doubt that SirAlexander had died intestate, we at once began to put matters right. Sir Gilbert, of course, came into the whole of the real estate, and heand Mrs. Ralston shared the personalty--which, by-the-by, wasconsiderable: they both got nearly a hundred thousand each, in cash. And--there you are!"

"That all?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

Mr. Portlethorpe hesitated a moment--then he glanced at me. 

"Moneylaws is safe at a secret, " said Mr. Lindsey. "If it is a secret. "

"Well, then, " answered Mr. Portlethorpe, "it's not quite all. There is acircumstance which has--I can't exactly say bothered--but has somewhatdisturbed me. Sir Gilbert Carstairs has now been in possession of hisestates for a little over a year, and during that time he has sold nearlyevery yard of them except Hathercleugh!"

Mr. Lindsey whistled. It was the first symptom of astonishment that hehad manifested, and I glanced quickly at him and saw a look ofindescribable intelligence and almost undeniable cunning cross hisface. But it went as swiftly as it came, and he merely nodded, as ifin surprise. 

"Aye!" he exclaimed. "Quick work, Portlethorpe. "

"Oh, he gave good reasons!" answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "He said, from thefirst, that he meant to do it--he wanted, and his wife wanted too, to getrid of these small and detached Northern properties, and buy a reallyfine one in the South of England, keeping Hathercleugh as a sort ofholiday seat. He'd no intention of selling that, at any time. But--there's the fact!--he's sold pretty nearly everything else. "

"I never heard of these sales of land, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Oh, they've all been sold by private treaty, " replied Mr. Portlethorpe. "The Carstairs property was in parcels, here and there--the last twobaronets before this one had bought considerably in other parts. It wasall valuable--there was no difficulty in selling to adjacent owners. "

"Then, if he's been selling to that extent, Sir Gilbert must have largesums of money at command--unless he's bought that new estate you'retalking of, " said Mr. Lindsey. 

"He has not bought anything--that I know of, " answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "And he must have a considerable--a very large--sum of money at hisbankers'. All of which, " he continued, looking keenly at Mr. Lindsey, "makes me absolutely amazed to hear what you've just told me. It's veryserious, this charge you're implying against him, Lindsey! Why should hewant to take men's lives in this fashion! A man of his position, hisgreat wealth--"

"Portlethorpe!" broke in Mr. Lindsey, "didn't you tell me just now thatthis man, according to his own account, has lived a most adventurouslife, in all parts of the world? What more likely than that in thecourse of such a life he made acquaintance with queer characters, and--possibly--did some queer things himself? Isn't it a significantthing that, within a year of his coming into the title and estates, two highly mysterious individuals turn up here, and that all this foulplay ensues? It's impossible, now, to doubt that Gilverthwaite andPhillips came into these parts because this man was already here! Ifyou've read all the stuff that's been in the papers, and add to it justwhat we've told you about this last adventure with the yacht, you can'tdoubt it, either. "

"It's very, very strange--all of it, " agreed Mr. Portlethorpe. "Have youno theory, Lindsey?"

"I've a sort of one, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "I think Gilverthwaite andPhillips probably were in possession of some secret about Sir GilbertCarstairs, and that Crone may have somehow got an inkling of it. Now, aswe know, Gilverthwaite died, suddenly--and it's possible that Carstairskilled both Phillips and Crone, as he certainly meant to kill this lad. And what does it all look like?"

Before Mr. Portlethorpe could reply to that last question, and while hewas shaking his head over it, one of our junior clerks brought in Mrs. Ralston of Craig, at the mention of whose name Mr. Lindsey immediatelybustled forward. She was a shrewd, clever-looking woman, well undermiddle age, who had been a widow for the last four or five years, andwas celebrated in our parts for being a very managing and interferingsort of body who chiefly occupied herself with works of charity andphilanthropy and was prominent on committees and boards. And she lookedover the two solicitors as if they were candidates for examination, andshe the examiner. 

"I have been to the police, to find out what all this talk is about SirGilbert Carstairs, " she began at once. "They tell me you know more thanthey do, Mr. Lindsey. Well, what have you to say? And what have you tosay, Mr. Portlethorpe? You ought to know more than anybody. What does itall amount to!"

Mr. Portlethorpe, whose face had become very dismal at the sight ofMrs. Ralston, turned, as if seeking help, to Mr. Lindsey. He wasobviously taken aback by Mrs. Ralston's questions, and a little afraidof her; but Mr. Lindsey was never afraid of anybody, and he at onceturned on his visitor. 

"Before we answer your questions, Mrs. Ralston, " he said, "there's oneI'll take leave to ask you. When Sir Gilbert came back at your father'sdeath, did you recognize him?"

Mrs. Ralston tossed her head with obvious impatience. 

"Now, what ridiculous nonsense, Mr. Lindsey!" she exclaimed. "How onearth do you suppose that I could recognize a man whom I hadn't seensince I was a child of seven--and certainly not for at least thirtyyears? Of course I didn't!--impossible!"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE BANK BALANCE

It was now Mr. Portlethorpe and I who looked at each other--with a mutualquestioning. What was Mr. Lindsey hinting, suggesting? And Mr. Portlethorpe suddenly turned on him with a direct inquiry. 

"What is it you are after, Lindsey?" he asked. "There's something inyour mind. "

"A lot, " answered Mr. Lindsey. "And before I let it out, I think we'dbetter fully inform Mrs. Ralston of everything that's happened, and ofhow things stand, up to and including this moment. This is the position, Mrs. Ralston, and the facts"--and he went on to give his caller a briefbut complete summary of all that he and Mr. Portlethorpe had just talkedover. "You now see how matters are, " he concluded, at the end of hisepitome, during his delivery of which the lady had gradually grown moreand more portentous of countenance. "Now, --what do you say?"

Mrs. Ralston spoke sharply and decisively. 

"Precisely what I have felt inclined to say more than once of late!" sheanswered. "I'm beginning to suspect that the man who calls himself SirGilbert Carstairs is not Sir Gilbert Carstairs at all! He's animpostor!"

In spite of my subordinate position as a privileged but inferior memberof the conference, I could not help letting out a hasty exclamation ofastonishment at that. I was thoroughly and genuinely astounded--such anotion as that had never once occurred to me. An impostor!--not the realman? The idea was amazing--and Mr. Portlethorpe found it amazing, too, and he seconded my exclamation with another, and emphasized it with anincredulous laugh. 

"My dear madam!" he said deprecatingly. "Really! That's impossible!"

But Mr. Lindsey, calmer than ever, nodded his head confidently. 

"I'm absolutely of Mrs. Ralston's opinion, " he declared. "What shesuggests I believe to be true. An impostor!"

Mr. Portlethorpe flushed and began to look very uneasy. 

"Really!" he repeated. "Really, Lindsey!--you forget that I examined intothe whole thing! I saw all the papers--letters, documents--Oh, thesuggestion is--you'll pardon me, Mrs. Ralston--ridiculous! No man couldhave been in possession of those documents unless he'd been the realman--the absolute Simon Pure! Why, my dear lady, he produced letterswritten by yourself, when you were a little girl--and--and all sorts oflittle private matters. It's impossible that there has been anyimposture--a--a reflection on me!"

"Cleverer men than you have been taken in, Portlethorpe, " remarked Mr. Lindsey. "And the matters you speak of might have been stolen. But letMrs. Ralston give us her reasons for suspecting this man--she has somestrong ones, I'll be bound. "

Mr. Portlethorpe showed signs of irritation, but Mrs. Ralston promptlytook up Mr. Lindsey's challenge. 

"Sufficiently strong to have made me very uneasy of late, at any rate, "she answered. She turned to Mr. Portlethorpe. "You remember, " she wenton, "that my first meeting with this man, when he came to claim the titleand estates, was at your office in Newcastle, a few days after he firstpresented himself to you. He said then that he had not yet been down toHathercleugh; but I have since found out that he had--or, rather, that hehad been in the neighbourhood, incognito. That's a suspiciouscircumstance, Mr. Portlethorpe. "

"Excuse me, ma'am--I don't see it, " retorted Mr. Portlethorpe. "I don'tsee it at all. "

"I do, then!" said Mrs. Ralston. "Suspicious, because I, his sister, andonly living relation, was close by. Why didn't he come straight to me? Hewas here--he took a quiet look around before he let any one know who hewas. That's one thing I have against him--whatever you say, it was verysuspicious conduct; and he lied about it, in saying he had not been here, when he certainly had been here! But that's far from all. The realGilbert Carstairs, Mr. Lindsey, as Mr. Portlethorpe knows, lived atHathercleugh House until he was twenty-two years old. He was always atHathercleugh, except when he was at Edinburgh University studyingmedicine. He knew the whole of the district thoroughly. But, as I havefound out for myself, this man does not know the district! I havediscovered, on visiting him--though I have not gone there much, as Idon't like either him or his wife--that this is a strange country to him. He knows next to nothing--though he has done his best to learn--of itsfeatures, its history, its people. Is it likely that a man who had livedon the Border until he was two-and-twenty could forget all about it, simply because he was away from it for thirty years? Although I was onlyseven or eight when my brother Gilbert left home, I was then a very sharpchild, and I remember that he knew every mile of the country roundHathercleugh. But--this man doesn't. "

Mr. Portlethorpe muttered something about it being very possible for aman to forget a tremendous lot in thirty years, but Mrs. Ralston and Mr. Lindsey shook their heads at his dissent from their opinion. As for me, I was thinking of the undoubted fact that the supposed Sir GilbertCarstairs had been obliged in my presence to use a map in order to findhis exact whereabouts when he was, literally, within two miles of hisown house. 

"Another thing, " continued Mrs. Ralston: "in my few visits toHathercleugh since he came, I have found out that while he is very wellposted up in certain details of our family history, he is unaccountablyignorant of others with which he ought to have been perfectlyfamiliar. I found out, too, that he is exceedingly clever in avoidingsubjects in which his ignorance might be detected. But, clever as heis, he has more than once given me grounds for suspicion. And I tellyou plainly, Mr. Portlethorpe, that since he has been selling propertyto the extent you report, you ought, at this juncture, and as thingsare, to find out how money matters stand. He must have realized vastamounts in cash! Where is it!"

"At his bankers'--in Newcastle, my dear madam!" replied Mr. Portlethorpe. "Where else should it be? He has not yet made the purchase hecontemplated, so of course the necessary funds are waiting until he does. I cannot but think that you and Mr. Lindsey are mistaken, and that therewill be some proper and adequate explanation of all this, and--"

"Portlethorpe!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, "that's no good. Things have gonetoo far. Whether this man's Sir Gilbert Carstairs or an impostor, he didhis best to murder my clerk, and we suspect him of the murder of Crone, and he's going to be brought to justice--that's flat! And your duty atpresent is to fall in with us to this extent--you must adopt Mrs. Ralston's suggestion, and ascertain how money matters stand. As Mrs. Ralston rightly says, by the sale of these properties a vast amount ofready money must have been accumulated, and at this man's disposal, Portlethorpe!--we must know if it's true!"

"How can I tell you that?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe, who was growingmore and more nervous and peevish. "I've nothing to do with Sir GilbertCarstairs' private banking account. I can't go and ask, point blank, ofhis bankers how much money he has in their hands!"

"Then I will!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "I know where he banks inNewcastle, and I know the manager. I shall go this very night to themanager's private house, and tell him exactly everything that'stranspired--I shall tell him Mrs. Ralston's and my own suspicions, and Ishall ask him where the money is. Do you understand that?"

"The proper course to adopt!" said Mrs. Ralston. "The one thing to do. Itmust be done!"

"Oh, very well--then in that case I suppose I'd better go with you, " saidMr. Portlethorpe. "Of course, it's no use going to the bank--they'll beclosed; but we can, as you say, go privately to the manager. And we shallbe placed in a very unenviable position if Sir Gilbert Carstairs turns upwith a perfectly good explanation of all this mystery. "

Mr. Lindsey pointed a finger at me. 

"He can't explain that!" he exclaimed. "He left that lad to drown! Isthat attempted murder, or isn't it? I tell you, I'll have that man in thedock--never mind who he is! Hugh, pass me the railway guide. "

It was presently settled that Mr. Portlethorpe and Mr. Lindsey should gooff to Newcastle by the next train to see the bank manager. Mr. Lindseyinsisted that I should go with them--he would have no hole-and-cornerwork, he said, and I should tell my own story to the man we were goingto see, so that he would know some of the ground of our suspicion. Mrs. Ralston supported that; and when Mr. Portlethorpe remarked that we weregoing too fast, and were working up all the elements of a fine scandal, she tartly remarked that if more care had been taken at the beginning, all this would not have happened. 

We found the bank manager at his private house, outside Newcastle, thatevening. He knew both my companions personally, and he listened withgreat attention to all that Mr. Lindsey, as spokesman, had to tell; healso heard my story of the yacht affair. He was an astute, elderly man, evidently quick at sizing things up, and I knew by the way he turned toMr. Portlethorpe and by the glance he gave him, after hearing everything, that his conclusions were those of Mr. Lindsey and Mrs. Ralston. 

"I'm afraid there's something wrong, Portlethorpe, " he remarked quietly. "The truth is, I've had suspicions myself lately. "

"Good God! you don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. "How, then?"

"Since Sir Gilbert began selling property, " continued the bank manager, "very large sums have been paid in to his credit at our bank, where, previous to that, he already had a very considerable balance. But atthe present moment we hold very little--that is, comparativelylittle--money of his. "

"What?" said Mr. Portlethorpe. "What? You don't mean that?"

"During the past three or four months, " said the bank manager, "SirGilbert has regularly drawn very large cheques in favour of a Mr. JohnPaley. They have been presented to us through the Scottish-American Bankat Edinburgh. And, " he added, with a significant look at Mr. Lindsey, "Ithink you'd better go to Edinburgh--and find out who Mr. John Paley is. "

Mr. Portlethorpe got up, looking very white and frightened. 

"How much of all that money is there left in your hands?" heasked, hoarsely. 

"Not more than a couple of thousand, " answered the bank manager withpromptitude. 

"Then he's paid out--in the way you state--what?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe. 

"Quite two hundred thousand pounds! And, " concluded our informant, withanother knowing look, "now that I'm in possession of the facts you'vejust put before me, I should advise you to go and find out if Sir GilbertCarstairs and John Paley are not one and the same person!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HATHERCLEUGH BUTLER

The three of us went away from the bank manager's house struggling withthe various moods peculiar to our individual characters--Mr. Portlethorpe, being naturally a nervous man, given to despondency, wasgreatly upset, and manifested his emotions in sundry ejaculations of adark nature; I, being young, was full of amazement at the news just givenus and of the excitement of hunting down the man we knew as Sir GilbertCarstairs. But I am not sure that Mr. Lindsey struggled much withanything--he was cool and phlegmatic as usual, and immediately began tothink of practical measures. 

"Look here, Portlethorpe, " he said, as soon as we were in the motor carwhich we had chartered from Newcastle station, "we've got to get going inthis matter at once--straight away! We must be in Edinburgh as early aspossible in the morning. Be guided by me--come straight back to Berwick, stop the night with me at my house, and we'll be on our way to Edinburghby the very first train--we can get there early, by the time the banksare open. There's another reason why I want you to come--I've somedocuments that I wish you to see--documents that may have a veryimportant bearing on this affair. There's one in my pocket-book now, andyou'll be astonished when you hear how it came into my possession. Butit's not one-half so astonishing as another that I've got at my house. "

I remembered then that we had been so busily engaged since our returnfrom the North that morning that we had had no time to go into thematter of the letter which Mr. Gavin Smeaton had entrusted to Mr. Lindsey--here, again, was going to be more work of the ferreting-outsort. But Mr. Portlethorpe, it was clear, had no taste for mysteries, and no great desire to forsake his own bed, even for Mr. Lindsey'shospitality, and it needed insistence before he consented to go back toBerwick with us. Go back, however, he did; and before midnight we werein our own town again, and passing the deserted streets towards Mr. Lindsey's home, I going with the others because Mr. Lindsey insistedthat it was now too late for me to go home, and I should be nearer thestation if I slept at his place. And just before we got to the house, which was a quiet villa standing in its own grounds, a little north ofthe top end of the town, a man who was sauntering ahead of us, suddenlyturned and came up to Mr. Lindsey, and in the light of a street lamp Irecognized in him the Hathercleugh butler. 

Mr. Lindsey recognized the man, too--so also did Mr. Portlethorpe; andthey both came to a dead halt, staring. And both rapped out the sameinquiry, in identical words:

"Some news?"

I looked as eagerly at the butler as they did. He had been sour enoughand pompous enough in his manner and attitude to me that night of my callon his master, and it surprised me now to see how polite and suaveand--in a fashion--insinuating he was in his behaviour to the twosolicitors. He was a big, fleshy, strongly-built fellow, with a ratherflabby, deeply-lined face and a pallid complexion, rendered all the palerby his black overcoat and top hat; and as he stood there, rubbing hishands, glancing from Mr. Lindsey to Mr. Portlethorpe, and speaking insoft, oily, suggestive accents, I felt that I disliked him even more thanwhen he had addressed me in such supercilious accents at the doors ofHathercleugh. 

"Well--er--not precisely news, gentlemen, " he replied. "The fact is, Iwanted to see you privately, Mr. Lindsey, sir--but, of course, I've noobjections to speaking before Mr. Portlethorpe, as he's Sir Gilbert'ssolicitor. Perhaps I can come in with you, Mr. Lindsey?--the truth is, I've been waiting about, sir--they said you'd gone to Newcastle, andmight be coming back by this last train. And--it's--possibly--ofimportance. "

"Come in, " said Mr. Lindsey. He let us all into his house with hislatch-key, and led us to his study, where he closed the door. "Now, " hewent on, turning to the butler. "What is it? You can speak freely--we areall three--Mr. Portlethorpe, Mr. Moneylaws, and myself--pretty wellacquainted with all that is going on, by this time. And--I'm perhaps notfar wrong when I suggest that you know something?"

The butler, who had taken the chair which Mr. Lindsey had pointed out, rubbed his hands, and looked at us with an undeniable expression ofcunning and slyness. 

"Well, sir!" he said in a low, suggesting tone of voice. "A man in myposition naturally gets to know things--whether he wants to or not, sometimes. I have had ideas, gentlemen, for some time. "

"That something was wrong?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe. 

"Approaching to something of that nature, sir, " replied the butler. "Ofcourse, you will bear in mind that I am, as it were, a stranger--I haveonly been in Sir Gilbert's Carstairs' employ nine months. But--I haveeyes. And ears. And the long and short of it is, gentlemen, I believe SirGilbert--and Lady Carstairs--have gone!"

"Absolutely gone?" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. "Good gracious, Hollins!--you don't mean that!"

"I shall be much surprised if it is not found to be the case, sir, "answered Hollins, whose name I now heard for the first time. "And--incidentally, as it were--I may mention that I think it will bediscovered that a good deal has gone with them!"

"What--property?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe. "Impossible!--they couldn'tcarry property away--going as they seem to have done--or are said tohave done!"

Hollins coughed behind one of his big, fat hands, and glanced knowinglyat Mr. Lindsey, who was listening silently but with deep attention. 

"I'm not so sure about that, sir, " he said. "You're aware that there werecertain small matters at Hathercleugh of what we may term the heirloomnature, though whether they were heirlooms or not I can't say--theminiature of himself set in diamonds, given by George the Third to thesecond baronet; the necklace, also diamonds, which belonged to a Queen ofSpain; the small picture, priceless, given to the fifth baronet by a Czarof Russia; and similar things, Mr. Portlethorpe. And, gentlemen, thefamily jewels!--all of which had been reset. They've got all those!"

"You mean to say--of your own knowledge--they're not at Hathercleugh?"suddenly inquired Mr. Lindsey. 

"I mean to say they positively are not, sir, " replied the butler. "Theywere kept in a certain safe in a small room used by Lady Carstairs as herboudoir. Her ladyship left very hastily and secretly yesterday, as Iunderstand the police have told you, and, in her haste, she forgot tolock up that safe--which she had no doubt unlocked before her departure. That safe, sir, is empty--of those things, at any rate. "

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe, greatly agitated. "Thisis really terrible!"

"Could she carry those things--all of them--on her bicycle--by which Ihear she left?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Easily, sir, " replied Hollins. "She had a small luggage-carrier on herbicycle--it would hold all those things. They were not bulky, of course. "

"You've no idea where she went on that bicycle?" inquired Mr. Lindsey. 

Hollins smiled cunningly, and drew his chair a little nearer to us. 

"I hadn't--when I went to Mr. Murray, at the police-station, thismorning, " he answered. "But--I've an idea, now. That's precisely why Icame in to see you, Mr. Lindsey. "

He put his hand inside his overcoat and produced a pocket-book, fromwhich he presently drew out a scrap of paper. 

"After I'd seen Mr. Murray this morning, " he continued, "I went back toHathercleugh, and took it upon myself to have a look round. I didn't findanything of a remarkably suspicious nature until this afternoon, prettylate, when I made the discovery about the safe in the boudoir--that allthe articles I'd mentioned had disappeared. Then I began to examine awaste-paper basket in the boudoir--I'd personally seen Lady Carstairstear up some letters which she received yesterday morning by the firstpost, and throw the scraps into that basket, which hadn't been emptiedsince. And I found this, gentlemen--and you can, perhaps, draw someconclusion from it--I've had no difficulty in drawing one myself. "

He laid on the table a torn scrap of paper, over which all three of us atonce bent. There was no more on it than the terminations of lines--butthe wording was certainly suggestive:--

". . . . At once, quietly. . . . Best time would be before lunch. . . . At Kelso. . . . Usual place in Glasgow. "

Mr. Portlethorpe started at sight of the handwriting. 

"That's Sir Gilbert's!" he exclaimed. "No doubt of that. What are we tounderstand by it, Lindsey?"

"What do you make of this?" asked Mr. Lindsey, turning to Hollins. "Yousay you've drawn a deduction?"

"I make this out, sir, " answered the butler, quietly. "Yesterday morningthere were only four letters for Lady Carstairs. Two were fromLondon--in the handwriting of ladies. One was a tradesman's letter--fromNewcastle. The fourth was in a registered envelope--and the address wastypewritten--and the post-mark Edinburgh. I'm convinced, Mr. Lindsey, that the registered one contained--that! A letter, you understand, fromSir Gilbert--I found other scraps of it, but so small that it'simpossible to piece them together, though I have them here. And Iconclude that he gave Lady Carstairs orders to cycle to Kelso--an easyride for her, --and to take the train to Glasgow, where he'd meet her. Glasgow, sir, is a highly convenient city, I believe, for people whowish to disappear. And--I should suggest that Glasgow should becommunicated with. "

"Have you ever known Sir Gilbert Carstairs visit Glasgow recently?" askedMr. Lindsey, who had listened attentively to all this. 

"He was there three weeks ago, " replied Hollins. 

"And--Edinburgh?" suggested Mr. Lindsey. 

"He went regularly to Edinburgh--at one time--twice a week, " said thebutler. And then, Mr. Lindsey not making any further remark, he glancedat him and at Mr. Portlethorpe. "Of course, gentlemen, " he continued, "this is all between ourselves. I feel it my duty, you know. "

Mr. Lindsey answered that we all understood the situation, and presentlyhe let the man out, after a whispered sentence or two between them in thehall. Then he came back to us, and without a word as to what had justtranspired, drew the Smeaton letter from his pocket. 

CHAPTER XXIX

ALL IN ORDER

So that we might have it to ourselves, we had returned from Newcastle toBerwick in a first-class compartment, and in its privacy Mr. Lindsey hadtold Mr. Portlethorpe the whole of the Smeaton story. Mr. Portlethorpehad listened--so it seemed to me--with a good deal of irritation andimpatience; he was clearly one of those people who do not likeinterference with what they regard as an established order of things, andit evidently irked him to have any questions raised as to the Carstairsaffairs--which, of course, he himself had done much to settle when SirGilbert succeeded to the title. In his opinion, the whole thing was cut, dried, and done with, and he was still impatient and restive when Mr. Lindsey laid before him the letter which Mr. Gavin Smeaton had lent us, and invited him to look carefully at the handwriting. He made no properresponse to that invitation; what he did was to give a peevish glance atthe letter, and then push it aside, with an equally peevish exclamation. 

"What of it?" he said. "It conveys nothing to me!"

"Take your time, Portlethorpe, " remonstrated Mr. Lindsey, who wasunlocking a drawer in his desk. "It'll perhaps convey something to youwhen you compare that writing with a certain signature which I shall nowshow you. This, " he continued, as he produced Gilverthwaite's will, andlaid it before his visitor, "is the will of the man whose coming toBerwick ushered in all these mysteries. Now, then--do you see who was oneof the witnesses to the will? Look, man!"

Mr. Portlethorpe looked--and was startled out of his peevishness. 

"God bless me!" he exclaimed. "Michael Carstairs!"

"Just that, " said Mr. Lindsey. "Now then, compare Michael Carstairs'handwriting with the handwriting of that letter. Come here, Hugh!--you, too, have a look. And--there's no need for any very close or carefullooking, either!--no need for expert calligraphic evidence, or for theuse of microscopes. I'll stake all I'm worth that that signature and thatletter are the work of the same hand!"

Now that I saw the Smeaton letter and the signature of the first witnessto Gilverthwaite's will, side by side, I had no hesitation in thinkingas Mr. Lindsey did. It was an exceptionally curious, not to sayeccentric, handwriting--some of the letters were oddly formed, otherletters were indicated rather than formed at all. It seemed impossiblethat two different individuals could write in that style; it was ratherthe style developed for himself by a man who scorned all conventionalmatters, and was as self-distinct in his penmanship as he probably wasin his life and thoughts. Anyway, there was an undeniable, anextraordinary similarity, and even Mr. Portlethorpe had to admit that itwas--undoubtedly--there. He threw off his impatience and irritability, and became interested--and grave. 

"That's very strange, and uncommonly important, Lindsey!" he said. "I--yes, I am certainly inclined to agree with you. Now, what do youmake of it?"

"If you want to know my precise idea, " replied Mr. Lindsey, "it's justthis--Michael Carstairs and Martin Smeaton are one and the same man--or, I should say, were! That's about it, Portlethorpe. "

"Then in that case--that young fellow at Dundee is Michael Carstairs'son?" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. 

"And, in my opinion, that's not far off the truth, " said Mr. Lindsey. "You've hit it!"

"But--Michael Carstairs was never married!" declared Mr. Portlethorpe. 

Mr. Lindsey picked up Gilverthwaite's will and the Smeaton letter, andcarefully locked them away in his drawer. 

"I'm not so sure about that, " he remarked, drily. "Michael Carstairs wasvery evidently a queer man who did a lot of things in a peculiar fashionof his own, and--"

"The solicitor who sent us formal proof of his death, from Havana, previous to Sir Alexander's death, said distinctly that Michael had neverbeen married, " interrupted Mr. Portlethorpe. "And surely he would know!"

"And I say just as surely that from all I've heard of Michael Carstairsthere'd be a lot of things that no solicitor would know, even if he satat Michael's dying bed!" retorted Mr. Lindsey. "But we'll see. Andtalking of beds, it's time I was showing you to yours, and that we wereall between the sheets, for it's one o'clock in the morning, and we'llhave to be stirring again at six sharp. And I'll tell you what we'll do, Portlethorpe, to save time--we'll just take a mere cup of coffee and amouthful of bread here, and we'll breakfast in Edinburgh--we'll be thereby eight-thirty. So now come to your beds. "

He marshalled us upstairs--he and Mr. Portlethorpe had already takentheir night-caps while they talked, --and when he had bestowed the seniorvisitor in his room, he came to me in mine, carrying an alarm clock whichhe set down at my bed-head. 

"Hugh, my man!" he said, "you'll have to stir yourself an hour beforeMr. Portlethorpe and me. I've set that implement for five o'clock. Getyourself up when it rings, and make yourself ready and go round toMurray at the police-station--rouse him out of his bed. Tell him what weheard from that man Hollins tonight, and bid him communicate with theGlasgow police to look out for Sir Gilbert Carstairs. Tell him, too, that we're going on to Edinburgh, and why, and that, if need be, I'llring him up from the Station Hotel during the morning with any news wehave, and I'll ask for his at the same time. Insist on his getting intouch with Glasgow--it's there, without doubt, that Lady Carstairs wentoff, and where Sir Gilbert would meet her; let him start inquiriesabout the shipping offices and the like. And that's all--and get yourbit of sleep. "

I had Murray out of his bed before half-past five that morning, and Ilaid it on him heavily about the Glasgow affair, which, as we came toknow later, was the biggest mistake we made, and one that involved us inno end of sore trouble; and at a quarter-past six Mr. Lindsey and Mr. Portlethorpe and I were drinking our coffee and blinking at each otherover the rims of the cups. But Mr. Lindsey was sharp enough of his witseven at that hour, and before we set off from Berwick he wrote out atelegram to Mr. Gavin Smeaton, asking him to meet us in Edinburgh duringthe day, so that Mr. Portlethorpe might make his acquaintance. Thistelegram he left with his housekeeper--to be dispatched as soon as thepost-office was open. And then we were off, and by half-past eight wereat breakfast in the Waverley Station; and as the last stroke of ten wassounding from the Edinburgh clocks we were walking into the premises ofthe Scottish-American Bank. 

The manager, who presently received us in his private rooms, looked atMr. Lindsey and Mr. Portlethorpe with evident surprise--it may have beenthat there was mystery in their countenances. I know that I, on my part, felt as if a purblind man might have seen that I was clothed about withmystery from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot! And he appearedstill more surprised when Mr. Lindsey, briefly, but fully, explained whywe had called upon him. 

"Of course, I've read the newspapers about your strange doings atBerwick, " he observed, when Mr. Lindsey--aided by some remarks from Mr. Portlethorpe--had come to the end of his explanation. "And I gather thatyou now want to know what we, here, know of Sir Gilbert Carstairs and Mr. John Paley. I can reply to that in a sentence--nothing that is to theirdiscredit! They are two thoroughly estimable and trustworthy gentlemen, so far as we are aware. "

"Then there _is_ a Mr. John Paley?" demanded Mr. Lindsey, who wasobviously surprised. 

The manager, evidently, was also surprised--by the signs of Mr. Lindsey's surprise. 

"Mr. John Paley is a stockbroker in this city, " he replied. "Quite wellknown! The fact is, we--that is, I--introduced Sir Gilbert Carstairs tohim. Perhaps, " he continued, glancing from one gentleman to the other, "Ihad better tell you all the facts. They're very simple, and quite of anordinary nature. Sir Gilbert Carstairs came in here, introducing himself, some months ago. He told me that he was intending to sell off a good dealof the Carstairs property, and that he wanted to reinvest his proceeds inthe very best American securities. I gathered that he had spent a lot oftime in America, that he preferred America to England, and, in short, that he had a decided intention of going back to the States, keepingHathercleugh as a place to come to occasionally. He asked me if I couldrecommend him a broker here in Edinburgh who was thoroughly wellacquainted with the very best class of American investments, and I atonce recommended Mr. John Paley. And--that's all I know, gentlemen. "

"Except, " remarked Mr. Lindsey, "that you know that considerabletransactions have taken place between Mr. Paley and Sir GilbertCarstairs. We know that, from what we heard last night in Newcastle. "

"Precisely!--then you know as much as I can tell you, " replied themanager. "But I have no objection to saying that large sums of money, coming from Sir Gilbert Carstairs, have certainly been passed through Mr. Paley's banking account here, and I suppose Mr. Paley has made theinvestments which Sir Gilbert desired--in fact, I know he has. And--Ishould suggest you call on Mr. Paley himself. "

We went away upon that, and it seemed to me that Mr. Lindsey was somewhattaken aback. And we were no sooner clear of the bank than Mr. Portlethorpe, a little triumphantly, a little maliciously, turned on him. 

"There! what did I say?" he exclaimed. "Everything is in order, you see, Lindsey! I confess I'm surprised to hear about those Americaninvestments; but, after all, Sir Gilbert has a right to do what he likeswith his own. I told you we were running our heads against thewall--personally, I don't see what use there is in seeing this Mr. Paley. We're only interfering with other people's business. As I say, SirGilbert can make what disposal he pleases of his own property. "

"And what I say, Portlethorpe, " retorted Mr. Lindsey, "is that I'm goingto be convinced that it is his own property! I'm going to see Paleywhether you do or not--and you'll be a fool if you don't come. "

Mr. Portlethorpe protested--but he accompanied us. And we were very soonin Mr. John Paley's office--a quiet, self-possessed sort of man whoshowed no surprise at our appearance; indeed, he at once remarked thatthe bank manager had just telephoned that we were on the way, and why. 

"Then I'll ask you a question at once, " said Mr. Lindsey. "And I'm sureyou'll be good enough to answer it. When did you last see Sir GilbertCarstairs?"

Mr. Paley immediately turned to a diary which lay on his desk, andgave one glance at it. "Three days ago, " he answered promptly. "Wednesday--eleven o'clock. "

CHAPTER XXX

THE CARSTAIRS MOTTO

Mr. Lindsey reflected a moment after getting that precise answer, and heglanced at me as if trying to recollect something. 

"That would be the very morning after the affair of the yacht?" heasked of me. 

But before I could speak, Mr. Paley took the words out of my mouth. 

"Quite right. " he said quietly. "I knew nothing of it at the time, ofcourse, but I have read a good deal in the newspapers since. It was themorning after Sir Gilbert left Berwick in his yacht. "

"Did he mention anything about the yacht to you?" inquired Mr. Lindsey. 

"Not a word! I took it that he had come in to see me in the ordinaryway, " replied the stockbroker. "He wasn't here ten minutes. I had no ideawhatever that anything had happened. "

"Before we go any further, " said Mr. Lindsey, "may I ask you to tell uswhat he came for? You know that Mr. Portlethorpe is his solicitor?--I amasking the question on his behalf as well as my own. "

"I don't know why I shouldn't tell you, " answered Mr. Paley. "He came onperfectly legitimate business. It was to call for some scrip which Iheld--scrip of his own, of course. "

"Which he took away with him?" suggested Mr. Lindsey. 

"Naturally!" replied the stockbroker. "That was what he came for. "

"Did he give you any hint as to where he was going?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Did he, for instance, happen to mention that he was leavinghome for a time?"

"Not at all, " answered Mr. Paley. "He spoke of nothing but the businessthat had brought him. As I said just now, he wasn't here ten minutes. "

It was evident to me that Mr. Lindsey was still more taken aback. What wehad learned during the last half-hour seemed to surprise him. And Mr. Portlethorpe, who was sharp enough of observation, saw this, and madehaste to step into the arena. 

"Mr. Lindsey, " he said, "has been much upset by the apparentlyextraordinary circumstances of Sir Gilbert Carstairs' disappearance--andso, I may say, has Sir Gilbert's sister, Mrs. Ralston. I have pointed outthat Sir Gilbert himself may have--probably has--a quite properexplanation of his movements. Wait a minute, Lindsey!" he went on, as Mr. Lindsey showed signs of restiveness. "It's my turn, I think. " He lookedat Mr. Paley again. "Your transactions with Sir Gilbert have been quitein order, all through, I suppose--and quite ordinary?"

"Quite in order, and quite ordinary, " answered the stockbroker readily. "He was sent to me by the manager of the Scottish-American Bank, whoknows that I do a considerable business in first-class Americansecurities and investments. Sir Gilbert told me that he was disposing ofa great deal of his property in England and wished to re-invest theproceeds in American stock. He gave me to understand that he wished tospend most of his time over there in future, as neither he nor his wifecared about Hathercleugh, though they meant to keep it up as the familyestate and headquarters. He placed considerable sums of money in my handsfrom time to time, and I invested them in accordance with hisinstructions, handing him the securities as each transaction wasconcluded. And--that's really all I know. "

Mr. Lindsey got in his word before Mr. Portlethorpe could speak again. 

"There are just two questions I should like to ask--to which nobody cantake exception, I think, " he said. "One is--I gather that you've investedall the money which Sir Gilbert placed in your hands?"

"Yes--about all, " replied Mr. Paley. "I have a balance--a small balance. "

"And the other is this, " continued Mr. Lindsey: "I suppose all theseAmerican securities which he now has are of such a nature that they couldbe turned into cash at any time, on any market?"

"That is so--certainly, " assented Mr. Paley. "Yes, certainly so. "

"Then that's enough for me!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, rising and beckoningme to follow. "Much obliged to you, sir. "

Without further ceremony he stumped out into the street, with me at hisheels, to be followed a few minutes later by Mr. Portlethorpe. Andthereupon began a warm altercation between them which continued until allthree of us were stowed away in a quiet corner of the smoking-room in thehotel at which it had been arranged Mr. Gavin Smeaton was to seek us onhis arrival--and there it was renewed with equal vigour; at least, withequal vigour on Mr. Lindsey's part. As for me, I sat before the twodisputants, my hands in my pockets, listening, as if I were judge andjury all in one, to what each had to urge. 

They were, of course, at absolutely opposite poles of thought. One manwas approaching the matter from one standpoint; the other from onediametrically opposed to it. Mr. Portlethorpe was all for minimizingthings, Mr. Lindsey all for taking the maximum attitude. Mr. Portlethorpesaid that even if we had not come to Edinburgh on a fool's errand--whichappeared to be his secret and private notion--we had at any rate got theinformation which Mr. Lindsey wanted, and had far better go home now andattend to our proper business, which, he added, was not to pry and peepinto other folks' affairs. He was convinced that Sir Gilbert Carstairswas Sir Gilbert Carstairs, and that Mrs. Ralston's and Mr. Lindsey'ssuspicions were all wrong. He failed to see any connection between SirGilbert and the Berwick mysteries and murders; it was ridiculous tosuppose it. As for the yacht incident, he admitted it looked at leaststrange; but, he added, with a half-apologetic glance at me, he wouldlike to hear Sir Gilbert's version of that affair before he himself madeup his mind about it. 

"If we can lay hands on him, you'll be hearing his version from thedock!" retorted Mr. Lindsey. "Your natural love of letting things gosmoothly, Portlethorpe, is leading you into strange courses! Manalive!--take a look at the whole thing from a dispassionate attitude!Since the fellow got hold of the Hathercleugh property, he's soldeverything, practically, but Hathercleugh itself; he's lost no time inconverting the proceeds--a couple of hundred thousand pounds!--intoforeign securities, which, says yon man Paley, are convertible into cashat any moment in any market! Something occurs--we don't know what, yet--to make him insecure in his position; without doubt, it's mixedup with Phillips and Gilverthwaite, and no doubt, afterwards, withCrone. This lad here accidentally knows something which might befatal--Carstairs tries, having, as I believe, murdered Crone, to drownMoneylaws! And what then? It's every evident that, after leavingMoneylaws, he ran his yacht in somewhere on the Scottish coast, andturned her adrift; or, which is more likely, fell in with thatfisher-fellow Robertson at Largo, and bribed him to tell a cock-and-bulltale about the whole thing--made his way to Edinburgh next morning, andpossessed himself of the rest of his securities, after which, he clearsout, to be joined somewhere by his wife, who, if what Hollins told uslast night is true--and it no doubt is, --carried certain valuables offwith her! What does it look like but that he's an impostor, who's justmade all he can out of the property while he'd the chance, and is nowaway to enjoy his ill-gotten gains? That's what I'm saying, Portlethorpe--and I insist on my common-sense view of it!"

"And I say it's just as common-sense to insist, as I do, that it's allcapable of proper and reasonable explanation!" retorted Mr. Portlethorpe. "You're a good hand at drawing deductions, Lindsey, but you're bad inyour premises! You start off by asking me to take something for granted, and I'm not fond of mental gymnastics. If you'd be strictly logical--"

They went on arguing like that, one against the other, for a good hour, and it seemed to me that the talk they were having would have gone on forever, indefinitely, if, on the stroke of noon, Mr. Gavin Smeaton had notwalked in on us. At sight of him they stopped, and presently they weredeep in the matter of the similarity of the handwritings, Mr. Lindseyhaving brought the letter and the will with him. Deep, at any rate, Mr. Lindsey and Mr. Portlethorpe were; as for Mr. Gavin Smeaton, he appearedto be utterly amazed at the suggestion which Mr. Lindsey threw out tohim--that the father of whom he knew so little was, in reality, MichaelCarstairs. 

"Do you know what it is you're suggesting, Lindsey?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe, suddenly. "You've got the idea into your head now that thisyoung man's father, whom he's always heard of as one Martin Smeaton, wasin strict truth the late Michael Carstairs, elder son of the late SirAlexander--in fact, being the wilful and headstrong man that you are, you're already positive of it?"

"I am so!" declared Mr. Lindsey. "That's a fact, Portlethorpe. "

"Then what follows?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe. "If Mr. Smeaton there is thetrue and lawful son of the late Michael Carstairs, his name is notSmeaton at all, but Carstairs, and he's the true holder of the baronetcy, and, as his grandfather died intestate, the legal owner of the property!D'you follow that?"

"I should be a fool if I didn't!" retorted Mr. Lindsey. "I've beenthinking of it for thirty-six hours. "

"Well--it'll have to be proved, " muttered Mr. Portlethorpe. He had beenstaring hard at Mr. Gavin Smeaton ever since he came in, and suddenly helet out a frank exclamation. "There's no denying you've a strongCarstairs look on you!" said he. "Bless and save me!--this is thestrangest affair!"

Smeaton put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a little package whichhe began to unwrap. 

"I wonder if this has anything to do with it, " he said. "I remembered, thinking things over last night, that I had something which, so theWatsons used to tell me, was round my neck when I first came to them. It's a bit of gold ornament, with a motto on it. I've had it carefullylocked away for many a long year!"

He took out of his package a heart-shaped pendant, with a much-worn goldchain attached to it, and turned it over to show an engraved inscriptionon the reverse side. 

"There's the motto, " he said. "You see--_Who Will, Shall_. Whose is it?"

"God bless us!" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. "The Carstairs motto!Aye!--their motto for many a hundred years! Lindsey, this is anextraordinary thing!--I'm inclined to think you may have some right inyour notions. We must--"

But before Mr. Portlethorpe could say what they must do, there was adiversion in our proceedings which took all interest in them clean awayfrom me, and made me forget whatever mystery there was about Carstairs, Smeaton, or anybody else. A page lad came along with a telegram in hishand asking was there any gentleman there of the name of Moneylaws? Itook the envelope from him in a whirl of wonder, and tore it open, feeling an unaccountable sense of coming trouble. And in another minutethe room was spinning round me; but the wording of the telegram wasclear enough:

"Come home first train Maisie Dunlop been unaccountably missing sincelast evening and no trace of her. Murray. "

I flung the bit of paper on the table before the other three, and, feeling like my head was on fire, was out of the room and the hotel, andin the street and racing into the station, before one of them could finda word to put on his tongue. 

CHAPTER XXXI

NO TRACE

That telegram had swept all the doings of the morning clear away from me. Little I cared about the Carstairs affairs and all the mystery that waswrapping round them in comparison with the news which Murray had sentalong in that peculiarly distressing fashion! I would cheerfully havegiven all I ever hoped to be worth if he had only added more news; but hehad just said enough to make me feel as if I should go mad unless I couldget home there and then. I had not seen Maisie since she and my motherhad left Mr. Lindsey and me at Dundee--I had been so fully engaged sincethen, what with the police, and Mrs. Ralston, and Mr. Portlethorpe, andthe hurried journeys, first to Newcastle and then to Edinburgh, that Ihad never had a minute to run down and see how things were going on. What, of course, drove me into an agony of apprehension was Murray's useof that one word "unaccountably. " Why should Maisie be "unaccountably"missing? What had happened to take her out of her father's house?--wherehad she gone, that no trace of her could be got?--what had led to thisutterly startling development?--what--

But it was no use speculating on these things--the need was for action. And I had seized on the first porter I met, and was asking him for thenext train to Berwick, when Mr. Gavin Smeaton gripped my arm. 

"There's a train in ten minutes, Moneylaws, " said he quietly. "Come awayto it--I'll go with you--we're all going. Mr. Lindsey thinks we'll do asmuch there as here, now. "

Looking round I saw the two solicitors hurrying in our direction, Mr. Lindsey carrying Murray's telegram in his hand. He pulled me aside as weall walked towards the train. 

"What do you make of this, Hugh?" he asked. "Can you account for anyreason why the girl should be missing?"

"I haven't an idea, " said I. "But if it's anything to do with all therest of this business, Mr. Lindsey, let somebody look out! I'll have nomercy on anybody that's interfered with her--and what else can it be? Iwish I'd never left the town!"

"Aye, well, we'll soon be back in it, " he said, consolingly. "And we'llhope to find better news. I wish Murray had said more; it's a mistake tofrighten folk in that way--he's said just too much and just too little. "

It was a fast express that we caught for Berwick, and we were not long incovering the distance, but it seemed like ages to me, and the rest ofthem failed to get a word out of my lips during the whole time. And myheart was in my mouth when, as we ran into Berwick station, I sawChisholm and Andrew Dunlop on the platform waiting us. Folk that havehad bad news are always in a state of fearing to receive worse, and Idreaded what they might have come to the station to tell us. And Mr. Lindsey saw how I was feeling, and he was on the two of them with aninstant question. 

"Do you know any more about the girl than was in Murray's wire?" hedemanded. "If so, what? The lad here's mad for news!"

Chisholm shook his head, and Andrew Dunlop looked searchingly at me. 

"We know nothing more, " he answered. "You don't know anything yourself, my lad?" he went on, staring at me still harder. 

"I, Mr. Dunlop!" I exclaimed. "What do you think, now, asking me aquestion like yon! What should I know?"

"How should I know that?" said he. "You dragged your mother and my lassall the way to Dundee for nothing--so far as I could learn; and--"

"He'd good reason, " interrupted Mr. Lindsey. "He did quite right. Nowwhat is this about your daughter, Mr. Dunlop? Just let's have the plaintale of it, and then we'll know where we are. "

I had already seen that Andrew Dunlop was not over well pleased withme--and now I saw why. He was a terrible hand at economy, saving everypenny he could lay hands on, and as nothing particular seemed to havecome of it, and--so far as he could see--there had been no great reasonfor it, he was sore at my sending for his daughter to Dundee, and all thesorer because--though I, of course, was utterly innocent of it--Maisiehad gone off on that journey without as much as a by-your-leave to him. And he was not over ready or over civil to Mr. Lindsey. 

"Aye, well!" said he. "There's strange doings afoot, and it's not my willthat my lass should be at all mixed up in them, Mr. Lindsey! All thisrunning up and down, hither and thither, on business that doesn'tconcern--"

Mr. Lindsey had the shortest of tempers on occasion, and I saw that hewas already impatient. He suddenly turned away with a growl andcollared Chisholm. 

"You're a fool, Dunlop, " he exclaimed over his shoulder; "it's yourtongue that wants to go running! Now then, sergeant!--what is all thisabout Miss Dunlop? Come on!"

My future father-in-law drew off in high displeasure, but Chisholmhurriedly explained matters. 

"He's in a huffy state, Mr. Lindsey, " he said, nodding at Andrew'sretreating figure. "Until you came in, he was under the firm belief thatyou and Mr. Hugh had got the young lady away again on some of thismystery business--he wouldn't have it any other way. And truth to tell, Iwas wondering if you had, myself! But since you haven't, it's here--and Ihope nothing's befallen the poor young thing, for--"

"For God's sake, man, get it out!" said I. "We've had prefaceenough--come to your tale!"

"I'm only explaining to you, Mr. Hugh, " he answered, calmly. "And Iunderstand your impatience. It's like this, d'ye see?--Andrew Dunlopyonder has a sister that's married to a man, a sheep-farmer, whose placeis near Coldsmouth Hill, between Mindrum and Kirk Yetholm--"

"I know!" I said. "You mean Mrs. Heselton. Well, man?"

"Mrs. Heselton, of course, " said he. "You're right there. And lastnight--about seven or so in the evening--a telegram came to the Dunlopssaying Mrs. Heselton was taken very ill, and would Miss Dunlop go over?And away she went there and then, on her bicycle, and alone--and shenever reached the place!"

"How do you know that?" demanded Mr. Lindsey. 

"Because, " answered Chisholm, "about nine o'clock this morning in comesone of the Heselton lads to Dunlop to tell him his mother had died duringthe night; and then, of course, they asked did Miss Dunlop get there intime, and the lad said they'd never set eyes on her. And--that's allthere is to tell, Mr. Lindsey. "

I was for starting off, with, I think, the idea of instantly mountingmy bicycle and setting out for Heselton's farm, when Mr. Lindseyseized my elbow. 

"Take your time, lad, " said he. "Let's think what we're doing. Now then, how far is it to this place where the girl was going?"

"Seventeen miles, " said I, promptly. 

"You know it?" he asked. "And the road?"

"I've been there with her--many a time, Mr. Lindsey, " I answered. "Iknow every inch of the road. "

"Now then!" he said, "get the best motor car there is in the town, and beoff! Make inquiries all the way along; it'll be a queer thing if youcan't trace something--it would be broad daylight all the time she'd beon her journey. Make a thorough search and full inquiry--she must havebeen seen. " He turned to Mr. Smeaton, who had stood near, listening. "Gowith him!" he said. "It'll be a good turn to do him--he wants company. "

Mr. Smeaton and I hurried outside the station--a car or two stood in theyard, and we picked out the best. As we got in, Chisholm came up to us. 

"You'd better have a word or two with our men along the road, Mr. Hugh, "said he. "There's not many between here and the part you're going to, butyou'd do no harm to give them an idea of what it is you're after, andtell them to keep their eyes open--and their ears, for that matter. "

"Aye, we'll do that, Chisholm, " I answered. "And do you keep eyes andears open here in Berwick! I'll give ten pounds, and cash in his hand, tothe first man that gives me news; and you can let that be known as muchas you like, and at once--whether Andrew Dunlop thinks it's throwingmoney away or not!"

And then we were off; and maybe that he might draw me away from over muchapprehension, Mr. Smeaton began to ask me about the road which Maisiewould take to get to the Heseltons' farm--the road which we, of course, were taking ourselves. And I explained to him that it was just theordinary high-road that ran between Berwick and Kelso that Maisie wouldfollow, until she came to Cornhill, where she would turn south by way ofMindrum Mill, where--if that fact had anything to do with herdisappearance--she would come into a wildish stretch of country at thenorthern edge of the Cheviots. 

"There'll be places--villages and the like--all along, I expect?" heasked. 

"It's a lonely road, Mr. Smeaton, " I answered. "I know it well--whatplaces there are, are more off than on it, but there's no stretch of itthat's out of what you might term human reach. And how anybody couldhappen aught along it of a summer's evening is beyond me!--unless indeedwe're going back to the old kidnapping times. And if you knew MaisieDunlop, you'd know that she's the sort that would put up a fight if shewas interfered with! I'm wondering if this has aught to do with all yonCarstairs affair? There's been such blackness about that, and suchvillainy, that I wish I'd never heard the name!"

"Aye!" he answered. "I understand you. But--it's coming to an end. And inqueer ways--queer ways, indeed!"

I made no reply to him--and I was sick of the Carstairs matters; itseemed to me I had been eating and drinking and living and sleeping withmurder and fraud till I was choked with the thought of them. Let me onlyfind Maisie, said I to myself, and I would wash my hands of any furtherto-do with the whole vile business. 

But we were not to find Maisie during the long hours of that wearyafternoon and the evening that followed it. Mr. Lindsey had bade me keepthe car and spare no expense, and we journeyed hither and thither allround the district, seeking news and getting none. She had been seen justonce, at East Ord, just outside Berwick, by a man that was working in hiscottage garden by the roadside--no other tidings could we get. Wesearched all along the road that runs by the side of Bowmont Water, between Mindrum and the Yetholms, devoting ourselves particularly to thatstretch as being the loneliest, and without result. And as the twilightcame on, and both of us were dead weary, we turned homeward, myselffeeling much more desperate than even I did when I was swimming for myvery life in the North Sea. 

"And I'm pretty well sure of what it is, now, Mr. Smeaton!" I exclaimedas we gave up the search for that time. "There's been foul play! And I'llhave all the police in Northumberland on this business, or--"

"Aye!" he said, "it's a police matter, this, without doubt, Moneylaws. We'd best get back to Berwick, and insist on Murray setting his menthoroughly to work. "

We went first to Mr. Lindsey's when we got back, his house being on ourway. And at sight of us he hurried out and had us in his study. There wasa gentleman with him there--Mr. Ridley, the clergyman who had givenevidence about Gilverthwaite at the opening of the inquest on Phillips. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE LINK

I knew by one glance at Mr. Lindsey's face that he had news for us; butthere was only one sort of news I was wanting at that moment, and I wasjust as quick to see that, whatever news he had, it was not for me. Andas soon as I heard him say that nothing had been heard of Maisie Dunlopduring our absence, I was for going away, meaning to start inquiries ofmy own in the town, there and then, dead-beat though I was. But before Icould reach the door he had a hand on me. 

"You'll just come in, my lad, and sit you down to a hot supper that'swaiting you and Mr. Smeaton there, " he said, in that masterful way hehad which took no denial from anybody. "You can do no more good justnow--I've made every arrangement possible with the police, and they'rescouring the countryside. So into that chair with you, and eat anddrink--you'll be all the better for it. Mr. Smeaton, " he went on, as hehad us both to the supper-table and began to help us to food, "here'snews for you--for such news as it is affects you, I'm thinking, morethan any man that it has to do with. Mr. Ridley here has found outsomething relating to Michael Carstairs that'll change the whole courseof events!--especially if we prove, as I've no doubt we shall, thatMichael Carstairs was no other than your father, whom you knew asMartin Smeaton. "

Smeaton turned in his chair and looked at Mr. Ridley, who--he and Mr. Lindsey having taken their supper before we got in--was sitting in acorner by the fire, eyeing the stranger from Dundee with evident andcurious interest. 

"I've heard of you, sir, " said he. "You gave some evidence at the inqueston Phillips about Gilverthwaite's searching of your registers, I think?"

"Aye; and it's a fortunate thing--and shows how one thing leads toanother--that Gilverthwaite did go to Mr. Ridley!" explained Mr. Lindsey. "It set Mr. Ridley on a track, and he's been following it up, and--to cut matters short--he's found particulars of the marriage ofMichael Carstairs, who was said to have died unmarried. And I wishPortlethorpe hadn't gone home to Newcastle before Mr. Ridley came to mewith the news. "

Tired as I was, and utterly heart-sick about Maisie, I pricked up my earsat that. For at intervals Mr. Lindsey and I had discussed theprobabilities of this affair, and I knew that there was a stronglikelihood of its being found out that the mysterious Martin Smeaton wasno other than the Michael Carstairs who had left Hathercleugh for good asa young man. And if it were established that he was married, and thatGavin Smeaton was his lawful son, why, then--but Mr. Ridley was speaking, and I broke off my own speculations to listen to him. 

"You've scarcely got me to thank for this, Mr. Smeaton, " he said. "Therewas naturally a good deal of talk in the neighbourhood after that inqueston Phillips--people began wondering what that man Gilverthwaite wanted tofind in the parish registers, of which, I now know, he examined a goodmany, on both sides the Tweed. And in the ordinary course of things--andif some one had made a definite search with a definite object--what hasbeen found now could have been found at once. But I'll tell you how itwas. Up to some thirty years ago there was an old parish church away inthe loneliest part of the Cheviots which had served a village thatgradually went out of existence--though it's still got a name, Walholm, there's but a house or two in it now; and as there was next to nocongregation, and the church itself was becoming ruinous, the old parishwas abolished, and merged in the neighbouring parish of Felside, whoserector, my friend Mr. Longfield, has the old Walholm registers in hispossession. When he read of the Phillips inquest, and what I'd said then, he thought of those registers and turned them up, out of a chest wherethey'd lain for thirty years anyway; and he at once found the entry ofthe marriage of one Michael Carstairs with a Mary Smeaton, which was bylicence, and performed by the last vicar of Walholm--it was, as a matterof fact, the very last marriage which ever took place in the old church. And I should say, " concluded Mr. Ridley, "that it was what one would calla secret wedding--secret, at any rate, in so far as this: as it was bylicence, and as the old church was a most lonely and isolated place, faraway from anywhere, even then there'd be no one to know of it beyond theofficiating clergyman and the witnesses, who could, of course, be askedto hold their tongues about the matter, as they probably were. Butthere's the copy of the entry in the old register. "

Smeaton and I looked eagerly over the slip of paper which Mr. Ridleyhanded across. And he, to whom it meant such a vast deal, asked butone question:

"I wonder if I can find out anything about Mary Smeaton!"

"Mr. Longfield has already made some quiet inquiries amongst two or threeold people of the neighbourhood on that point, " remarked Mr. Ridley. "Thetwo witnesses to the marriage are both dead--years ago. But there arefolk living in the neighbourhood who remember Mary Smeaton. The facts arethese: she was a very handsome young woman, not a native of the district, who came in service to one of the farms on the Cheviots, and who, by acomparison of dates, left her place somewhat suddenly very soon afterthat marriage. "

Smeaton turned to Mr. Lindsey in the same quiet fashion. 

"What do you make of all this?" he asked. 

"Plain as a pikestaff, " answered Mr. Lindsey in his most confidentmanner. "Michael Carstairs fell in love with this girl and married her, quietly--as Mr. Ridley says, seeing that the marriage was by licence, it's probable, nay, certain, that nobody but the parson and the witnessesever knew anything about it. I take it that immediately after themarriage Michael Carstairs and his wife went off to America, and that he, for reasons of his own, dropped his own proper patronymic and adoptedhers. And, " he ended, slapping his knee, "I've no doubt that you're thechild of that marriage, that your real name is Gavin Carstairs, and thatyou're the successor to the baronetcy, and--the real owner ofHathercleugh, --as I shall have pleasure in proving. "

"We shall see, " said Smeaton, quietly as ever. "But--there's a good dealto do before we get to that, Mr. Lindsey! The present holder, orclaimant, for example? What of him?"

"I've insisted on the police setting every bit of available machinery towork in an effort to lay hands on him, " replied Mr. Lindsey. "Murray notonly communicated all that Hollins told us last night to the Glasgowpolice this morning, first thing, but he's sent a man over there withthe fullest news; he's wired the London authorities, and he's askedfor special detective help. He's got a couple of detectives fromNewcastle--all's being done that can be done. And for you too, Hugh, mylad!" he added, turning suddenly to me. "Whatever the police are doing inthe other direction, they're doing in yours. For, ugly as it may soundand seem, there's nothing like facing facts, and I'm afraid, I'm verymuch afraid, that this disappearance of Maisie Dunlop is all of a piecewith the rest of the villainy that's been going on--I am indeed!"

I pushed my plate away at that, and got on my feet. I had been dreadingas much myself, all day, but I had never dared put it into words. 

"You mean, Mr. Lindsey, that she's somehow got into the handsof--what?--who?" I asked him. 

"Something and somebody that's at the bottom of all this!" he answered, shaking his head. "I'm afraid, lad, I'm afraid!"

I went away from all of them then, and nobody made any attempt to stopme, that time--maybe they saw in my face that it was useless. I left thehouse, and went--unconsciously, I think--away through the town to mymother's, driving my nails into the palms of my hands, and cursing SirGilbert Carstairs--if that was the devil's name!--between my teeth. Andfrom cursing him, I fell to cursing myself, that I hadn't told at once ofmy seeing him at those crossroads on the night I went the errand forGilverthwaite. 

It had been late when Smeaton and I had got to Mr. Lindsey's, and thenight was now fallen on the town--a black, sultry night, with greatclouds overhead that threatened a thunderstorm. Our house was in abadly-lighted part of the street, and it was gloomy enough about it as Idrew near, debating in myself what further I could do--sleep I knew Ishould not until I had news of Maisie. And in the middle of myspeculations a man came out of the corner of a narrow lane that ran fromthe angle of our house, and touched me on the elbow. There was a shaft oflight just there from a neighbour's window; in it I recognized the man asa fellow named Scott that did odd gardening jobs here and there in theneighbourhood. 

"Wisht, Mr. Hugh!" said he, drawing me into the shadows of the lane;"I've been waiting your coming; there's a word I have for you--betweenourselves. "

"Well?" said I. 

"I hear you're promising ten pounds--cash on the spot--to the man thatcan give you some news of your young lady?" he went on eagerly. "Is itright, now?"

"Can you?" I asked. "For if you can, you'll soon see that it's right. "

"You'd be reasonable about it?" he urged, again taking the liberty togrip my arm. "If I couldn't just exactly give what you'd call exact anddefinite news, you'd consider it the same thing if I made a suggestion, wouldn't you, now, Mr. Hugh?--a suggestion that would lead to something?"

"Aye, would I!" I exclaimed. "And if you've got any suggestions, Scott, out with them, and don't beat about! Tell me anything that'll lead todiscovery, and you'll see your ten pound quickly. "

"Well, " he answered, "I have to be certain, for I'm a poor man, as youknow, with a young family, and it would be a poor thing for me to hint ataught that would take the bread out of their mouths--and my own. And Ihave the chance of a fine, regular job now at Hathercleugh yonder, and Iwouldn't like to be putting it in peril. "

"It's Hathercleugh you're talking of, then?" I asked him eagerly. "ForGod's sake, man, out with it! What is it you can tell me?"

"Not a word to a soul of what I say, then, at any time, present orfuture, Mr. Hugh?" he urged. 

"Oh, man, not a word!" I cried impatiently. "I'll never let on that I hadspeech of you in the matter!"

"Well, then, " he whispered, getting himself still closer: "mind you, Ican't say anything for certain--it's only a hint I'm giving you; but if Iwere in your shoes, I'd take a quiet look round yon old part ofHathercleugh House--I would so! It's never used, as you'll know--nobodyever goes near it; but, Mr. Hugh, whoever and however it is, there'ssomebody in it now!"

"The old part!" I exclaimed. "The Tower part?"

"Aye, surely!" he answered. "If you could get quietly to it--"

I gave his arm a grip that might have told him volumes. 

"I'll see you privately tomorrow, Scott, " I said. "And if your news isany good--man! there'll be your ten pound in your hand as soon as I seteyes on you!"

And therewith I darted away from him and headlong into our house doorway. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE OLD TOWER

My mother was at her knitting, in her easy-chair, in her own particularcorner of the living-room when I rushed in, and though she started at thesight of me, she went on knitting as methodically as if all the world wasregular as her own stitches. 

"So you've come to your own roof at last, my man!" she said, with a touchof the sharpness that she could put into her tongue on occasion. "There'sthem would say you'd forgotten the way to it, judging by experience--whydid you not let me know you were not coming home last night, and you inthe town, as I hear from other folks?"

"Oh, mother!" I exclaimed. "How can you ask such questions when you knowhow things are!--it was midnight when Mr. Lindsey and I got in fromNewcastle, and he would make me stop with him--and we were away again toEdinburgh first thing in the morning. "

"Aye, well, if Mr. Lindsey likes to spend his money flying about thecountry, he's welcome!" she retorted. "But I'll be thankful when yousettle down to peaceful ways again. Where are you going now?" shedemanded. "There's a warm supper for you in the oven!"

"I've had my supper at Mr. Lindsey's, mother, " I said, as I dragged mybicycle out of the back-place. "I've just got to go out, whether I willor no, and I don't know when I'll be in, either--do you think I can sleepin my bed when I don't know where Maisie is?"

"You'll not do much good, Hugh, where the police have failed, " sheanswered. "There's yon man Chisholm been here during the evening, and hetells me they haven't come across a trace of her, so far. "

"Chisholm's been here, then?" I exclaimed. "For no more than that?"

"Aye, for no more than that, " she replied. "And then this very noonthere was that Irishwoman that kept house for Crone, asking at thedoor for you. "

"What, Nance Maguire!" I said. "What did she want?"

"You!" retorted my mother. "Nice sort of people we have coming to ourdoor in these times! Police, and murderers, and Irish--"

"Did she say why she wanted me?" I interrupted her. 

"I gave her no chance, " said my mother. "Do you think I was going to holdtalk with a creature like that at my steps?"

"I'd hold talk with the devil himself, mother, if I could get somenews of Maisie!" I flung back at her as I made off. "You're as bad asAndrew Dunlop!"

There was the house door between her and me before she could reply tothat, and the next instant I had my bicycle on the road and my leg overthe saddle, and was hesitating before I put my foot to the pedal. Whatdid Nance Maguire want of me? Had she any news of Maisie? It was odd thatshe should come down--had I better not ride up the town and see her? ButI reflected that if she had any news--which was highly improbable--shewould give it to the police; and so anxious was I to test what Scott hadhinted at, that I swung on to my machine without further delay orreflection and went off towards Hathercleugh. 

And as I crossed the old bridge, in the opening murmur of a coming storm, I had an illumination which came as suddenly as the first flash oflightning that followed just afterwards. It had been a matter ofastonishment to me all day long that nobody, with the exception of theone man at East Ord, had noticed Maisie as she went along the roadbetween Berwick and Mindrum on the previous evening--now I remembered, blaming myself for not having remembered it before, that there was ashort cut, over a certain right-of-way, through the grounds ofHathercleugh House, which would save her a good three miles in herjourney. She would naturally be anxious to get to her aunt as quickly aspossible; she would think of the nearest way--she would take it. And nowI began to understand the whole thing: Maisie had gone into the groundsof Hathercleugh, and--she had never left them!

The realization made me sick with fear. The idea of my girl being trappedby such a villain as I firmly believed the man whom we knew as SirGilbert Carstairs to be was enough to shake every nerve in my body; butto think that she had been in his power for twenty-four hours, alone, defenceless, brought on me a faintness that was almost beyond sustaining. I felt physically and mentally ill--weak. And yet, God knows! there neverwas so much as a thought of defeat in me. What I felt was that I must getthere, and make some effort that would bring the suspense to an end forboth of us. I was beginning to see how things might be--passing throughthose grounds she might have chanced on something, or somebody, or SirGilbert himself, who, naturally, would not let anybody escape him thatcould tell anything of his whereabouts. But if he was at Hathercleugh, what of the tale which Hollins had told us the night before?--nay, thatvery morning, for it was after midnight when he sat there in Mr. Lindsey's parlour. And, suddenly, another idea flashed across me--Wasthat tale true, or was the man telling us a pack of lies, all for someend? Against that last notion there was, of course, the torn scrap ofletter to be set; but--but supposing that was all part of a plot, meantto deceive us while these villains--taking Hollins to be in at the otherman's game--got clear away in some totally different direction? If itwas, then it had been successful, for we had taken the bait, and allattention was being directed on Glasgow, and none elsewhere, and--as faras I knew--certainly none at Hathercleugh itself, whither nobody expectedSir Gilbert to come back. 

But these were all speculations--the main thing was to get toHathercleugh, acting on the hint I had just got from Scott, and to takea look round the old part of the big house, as far as I could. There wasno difficulty about getting there--although I had small acquaintance withthe house and grounds, never having been in them till the night of myvisit to Sir Gilbert Carstairs. I knew the surroundings well enough toknow how to get in amongst the shrubberies and coppices--I could have gotin there unobserved in the daytime, and it was now black night. I hadtaken care to extinguish my lamp as soon as I got clear of the BorderBridge, and now, riding along in the darkness, I was secure from theobservation of any possible enemy. And before I got to the actualboundaries of Hathercleugh, I was off the bicycle, and had hidden it inthe undergrowth at the roadside; and instead of going into the grounds bythe right-of-way which I was convinced Maisie must have taken, I climbeda fence and went forward through a spinny of young pine in the directionof the house. Presently I had a fine bit of chance guidance to it--as Iparted the last of the feathery branches through which I had quietly mademy way, and came out on the edge of the open park, a vivid flash oflightning showed me the great building standing on its plateau rightbefore me, a quarter of a mile off, its turrets and gables vividlyilluminated in the glare. And when that glare passed, as quickly as ithad come, and the heavy blackness fell again, there was a gleam of light, coming from some window or other, and I made for that, going swiftly andsilently over the intervening space, not without a fear that if anybodyshould chance to be on the watch another lightning flash might reveal myadvancing figure. 

But there had been no more lightning by the time I reached the plateau onwhich Hathercleugh was built; then, however, came a flash that was moreblinding than the last, followed by an immediate crash of thunder rightoverhead. In that flash I saw that I was now close to the exact spot Iwanted--the ancient part of the house. I saw, too, that between where Istood and the actual walls there was no cover of shrubbery or coppice orspinny--there was nothing but a closely cropped lawn to cross. And in thedarkness I crossed it, there and then, hastening forward withoutstretched hands which presently came against the masonry. In the samemoment came the rain in torrents. In the same moment, too, came somethingelse that damped my spirits more than any rains, however fierce andheavy, could damp my skin--the sense of my own utter helplessness. ThereI was--having acted on impulse--at the foot of a mass of grey stone whichhad once been impregnable, and was still formidable! I neither knew howto get in, nor how to look in, if that had been possible; and I now sawthat in coming at all I ought to have come accompanied by a squad ofpolice with authority to search the whole place, from end to end and topto bottom. And I reflected, with a grim sense of the irony of it, that todo that would have been a fine long job for a dozen men--what, then, wasit that I had undertaken single-handed?

It was at this moment, as I clung against the wall, sheltering myself aswell as I could from the pouring rain, that I heard through its steadybeating an equally steady throb as of some sort of machine. It was a verysubdued, scarcely apparent sound, but it was there--it was unmistakable. And suddenly--though in those days we were only just becoming familiarwith them--I knew what it was--the engine of some sort of automobile; butnot in action; the sound came from the boilers or condensers, or whateverthe things were called which they used in the steam-driven cars. And itwas near by--near at my right hand, farther along the line of the wallbeneath which I was cowering. There was something to set all my curiosityaflame!--what should an automobile be doing there, at that hour--for itwas now nearing well on to midnight--and in such close proximity to ahalf-ruinous place like that? And now, caring no more for the rain thanif it had been a springtide shower, I slowly began to creep along thewall in the direction of the sound. 

And here you will understand the situation of things better, if I saythat the habitable part of Hathercleugh was a long way from the old partto which I had come. The entire mass of building, old and new, was ofvast extent, and the old was separated from the new by a broken andutterly ruinous wing, long since covered over with ivy. As for the olditself, there was a great square tower at one corner of it, with wallsextending from its two angles; it was along one of these walls that I wasnow creeping. And presently--the sound of the gentle throbbing growingslightly louder as I made my way along--I came to the tower, and to thedeep-set gateway in it, and I knew at once that in that gateway there wasan automobile drawn up, all ready for being driven out and away. 

Feeling quietly for the corner of the gateway, I looked round, cautiously, lest a headlight on the car should betray my presence. Butthere was no headlight, and there was no sound beyond the steady throb ofthe steam and the ceaseless pouring of the rain behind me. And then, as Ilooked, came a third flash of lightning, and the entire scene was lightedup for me--the deep-set gateway with its groined and arched roof, thegrim walls at each side, the dark massive masonry beyond it, and there, within the shelter, a small, brand-new car, evidently of fine andpowerful make, which even my inexperienced eyes knew to be ready fordeparture from that place at any moment. And I saw something more duringthat flash--a half-open door in the wall to the left of the car, and thefirst steps of a winding stair. 

As the darkness fell again, blacker than ever, and the thunder crashedout above the old tower, I stole along the wall to that door, intendingto listen if aught were stirring within, or on the stairs, or in therooms above. And I had just got my fingers on the rounded pillar of thedoorway, and the thunder was just dying to a grumble, when a hand seizedthe back of my neck as in a vice, and something hard, and round, and coldpressed itself insistingly into my right temple. It was all done in thehalf of a second; but I knew, just as clearly as if I could see it, thata man of no ordinary strength had gripped me by the neck with one hand, and was holding a revolver to my head with the other. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BARGAIN

It may be that when one is placed in such a predicament as that in whichI then found myself, one's wits are suddenly sharpened, and a new senseis given to one. Whether that is so or not, I was as certain as if Iactually saw him that my assailant was the butler, Hollins. And I shouldhave been infinitely surprised if any other voice than his had spoken--ashe did speak when the last grumble of the thunder died out in a sulky, reluctant murmur. 

"In at that door, and straight up the stairs, Moneylaws!" he commanded. "And quick, if you don't want your brains scattering. Lively, now!"

He trailed the muzzle of the revolver round from my temple to the back ofmy head as he spoke, pressing it into my hair in its course in a fashionthat was anything but reassuring. I have often thought since of how Iexpected the thing to go off at any second, and how I was--for it's afact--more curious than frightened about it. But the sense ofself-preservation was on me, self-assertive enough, and I obliged him, stumbling in at the door under the pressure of his strong arm and of therevolver, and beginning to boggle at the first steps--old and much wornones, which were deeply hollowed in the middle. He shoved me forward. 

"Up you go, " he said, "straight ahead! Put your arms up and out--in frontof you till you feel a door--push it open. "

He kept one hand on the scruff of my neck--too tightly for comfort--andwith the other pressed the revolver into the cavity just above it, and inthis fashion we went up. And even in that predicament I must have had mywits about me, for I counted two-and-twenty steps. Then came the door--aheavy, iron-studded piece of strong oak, and it was slightly open, and asI pushed it wider in the darkness, a musty, close smell came fromwhatever was within. 

"No steps, " said he, "straight on! Now then, halt--and keep halting! Ifyou move one finger, Moneylaws, out fly your brains! No great loss to thecommunity, my lad--but I've some use for them yet. "

He took his hand away from my neck, but the revolver was still pressedinto my hair, and the pressure never relaxed. And suddenly I heard a snapbehind me, and the place in which we stood was lighted up--feebly, butenough to show me a cell-like sort of room, stone-walled, of course, anddestitute of everything in the furnishing way but a bit of a cranky oldtable and a couple of three-legged stools on either side of it. With thereleased hand he had snapped the catch of an electric pocket-lamp, and inits blue glare he drew the revolver away from my head, and steppingaside, but always covering me with his weapon, motioned me to the furtherstool. I obeyed him mechanically, and he pulled the table a littletowards him, sat down on the other stool, and, resting his elbow on thetable ledge, poked the revolver within a few inches of my nose. 

"Now, we'll talk for a few minutes, Moneylaws, " he said quietly, "Stormor no storm, I'm bound to be away on my business, and I'd have been offnow if it hadn't been for your cursed peeping and prying. But I don'twant to kill you, unless I'm obliged to, so you'll just serve your owninterests best if you answer a question or two and tell no lies. Arethere more of you outside or about?"

"Not to my knowledge!" said I. 

"You came alone?" he asked. 

"Absolutely alone, " I replied. 

"And why?" he demanded. 

"To see if I could get any news of Miss Dunlop, " I answered. 

"Why should you think to find Miss Dunlop here--in this old ruin?" heargued; and I could see he was genuinely curious. "Come now--straighttalk, Moneylaws!--and it'll be all the better for you. "

"She's missing since last night, " I replied. "It came to me that shelikely took a short cut across these grounds, and that in doing so shefell in with Sir Gilbert--or with you--and was kept, lest she should letout what she'd seen. That's the plain truth, Mr. Hollins. "

He was keeping his eyes on me just as steadily as he kept the revolver, and I saw from the look in them that he believed me. 

"Aye!" he said. "I see you can draw conclusions, if it comes to it. But--did you keep that idea of yours strictly to yourself, now?"

"Absolutely!" I repeated. 

"You didn't mention it to a soul?" he asked searchingly. 

"Not to a soul!" said I. "There isn't man, woman, or child knowsI'm here. "

I thought he might have dropped the muzzle of the revolver at that, buthe still kept it in a line with my nose and made no sign of relaxinghis vigilance. But, as he was silent for the moment, I let out aquestion at him. 

"It'll do you no harm to tell me the truth, Mr. Hollins, " I said. "Do youknow anything about Miss Dunlop? Is she safe? You've maybe had a younglady yourself one time or another--you'll understand what I'm feelingabout it?"

He nodded solemnly at that and in quite a friendly way. 

"Aye!" he answered. "I understand your feelings well enough, Moneylaws--and I'm a man of sentiment, so I'll tell you at once that thelass is safe enough, and there's not as much harm come to her as youcould put on a sixpence--so there! But--I'm not sure yet that you're safeyourself, " he went on, still eyeing me consideringly. "I'm a soft-heartedman, Moneylaws--or else you wouldn't have your brains in their place atthis present minute!"

"There's a mighty lot of chance of my harming you, anyway!" said I, witha laugh that surprised myself. "Not so much as a penknife on me, and youwith that thing at my head. "

"Aye!--but you've got a tongue in that head, " said he. "And you might beusing it! But come, now--I'm loth to harm you, and you'd best tell me abit more. What's the police doing?"

"What police do you mean?" I inquired. 

"Here, there, everywhere, anywhere!" he exclaimed. "No quibbles, now!--you'll have had plenty of information. "

"They're acting on yours, " I retorted. "Searching about Glasgow for SirGilbert and Lady Carstairs--you put us on to that, Mr. Hollins. "

"I had to, " he answered. "Aye, I put Lindsey on to it, to be sure--and hetook it all in like it was gospel, and so did all of you! It gained time, do you see, Moneylaws--it had to be done. "

"Then--they aren't in Glasgow?" I asked. 

He shook his big head solemnly at that, and something like a smile cameabout the corners of his lips. 

"They're not in Glasgow, nor near it, " he answered readily, "but whereall the police in England--and in Scotland, too, for that matter--'llfind it hard to get speech with them. Out of hand, Moneylaws!--out ofhand, d'ye see--for the police!"

He gave a sort of chuckle when he said this, and it emboldened me to cometo grips with him--as far as words went. 

"Then what harm can I do you, Mr. Hollins?" I asked. "You're not in anydanger that I know of. "

He looked at me as if wondering whether I wasn't trying a joke on him, and after staring a while he shook his head. 

"I'm leaving this part--finally, " he answered. "That's Sir Gilbert'sbrand-new car that's all ready for me down the stairs; and as I say, whether it's storm or no storm, I must be away. And there's just twothings I can do, Moneylaws--I can lay you out on the floor here, withyour brains running over your face, or I can--trust to your honour!"

We looked at each other for a full minute in silence--our eyes meeting inthe queer, bluish light of the electric pocket-lamp which he had set onthe table before us. Between us, too, was that revolver--always pointingat me out of its one black eye. 

"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Hollins, " said I at length, "I'd preferyou to trust to my honour. Whatever quality my brains may have, I'drather they were used than misused in the way you're suggesting! If it'sjust this--that you want me to hold my tongue--"

"I'll make a bargain with you, " he broke in on me. "You'd be fine andglad to see your sweetheart, Moneylaws, and assure yourself that she'scome to no harm, and is safe and well?"

"Aye! I would that!" I exclaimed. "Give me the chance, Mr. Hollins!"

"Then give me your word that whatever happens, whatever comes, you'llnot mention to the police that you've seen me tonight, and that wheneveryou're questioned you'll know nothing about me!" he said eagerly. "Twelve hours' start--aye, six!--means safety to me, Moneylaws. Willyou keep silence?"

"Where's Miss Dunlop?" asked I. 

"You can be with her in three minutes, " he answered, "if you'll give meyour word--and you're a truthful lad, I think--that you'll both bidewhere you are till morning, and that after that you'll keep your tonguequiet. Will you do that?"

"She's close by?" I demanded. 

"Over our heads, " he said calmly. "And you've only to say the word--"

"It's said, Mr. Hollins!" I exclaimed. "Go your ways! I'll never breathea syllable of it to a soul! Neither in six, nor twelve, nor a thousandhours!--your secret's safe enough with me--so long as you keep your wordabout her--and just now!"

He drew his free hand off the table, still watching me, and still keepingup the revolver, and from a drawer in the table between us pulled out akey and pushed it over. 

"There's a door behind you in yon corner, " he said. "And you'll find alantern at its foot--you've matches on you, no doubt. And beyond the doorthere's another stair that leads up to the turret, and you'll find herthere--and safe--and so--go your ways, now, Moneylaws, and I'll go mine!"

He dropped the revolver into a side pocket of his waterproof coat as hespoke, and, pointing me to the door in the corner, turned to that bywhich he had entered. And as he turned he snapped off the light of hiselectric lamp, while I myself, having fumbled for a box of matches, struck one and looked around me for this lantern he had mentioned. Inits spluttering light I saw his big figure round the corner--then, justas I made for the lantern, the match went out and all was darkness again. As I felt for another match, I heard him pounding the stair--and suddenlythere was a sort of scuffle and he cried out loudly once, and there wasthe sound of a fall, and then of lighter steps hurrying away, and then aheavy, rattling groan. And with my heart in my mouth and fingerstrembling so that I could scarcely hold the match, I made shift to lightthe candle in the lantern, and went fearfully after him. There, in anangle of the stairway, he was lying, with the blood running in darkstreams from a gap in his throat; while his hands, which he hadinstinctively put up to it, were feebly dropping away and relaxing on hisbroad chest. And as I put the lantern closer to him he looked up at me ina queer, puzzled fashion, and died before my very eyes. 

CHAPTER XXXV

THE SWAG

I shrank back against the mouldy wall of that old stairway shivering asif I had been suddenly stricken with the ague. I had trembled in everylimb before ever I heard the sound of the sudden scuffle, and from avariety of reasons--the relief of having Hollins's revolver withdrawnfrom my nose; the knowledge that Maisie was close by; the gradualwearing-down of my nerves during a whole day of heart-sickeningsuspense, --but now the trembling had deepened into utter shaking: I heardmy own teeth chattering, and my heart going like a pump, as I stoodthere, staring at the man's face, over which a grey pallor was quicklyspreading itself. And though I knew that he was as dead as ever a man canbe, I called to him, and the sound of my own voice frightened me. 

"Mr. Hollins!" I cried. "Mr. Hollins!"

And then I was frightened still more, for, as if in answer to my summons, but, of course, because of some muscular contraction following on death, the dead lips slightly parted, and they looked as if they were grinningat me. At that I lost what nerve I had left, and let out a cry, andturned to run back into the room where we had talked. But as I turnedthere were sounds at the foot of the stair, and the flash of a bull's-eyelamp, and I heard Chisholm's voice down in the gateway below. 

"Hullo, up there!" he was demanding. "Is there anybody above?"

It seemed as if I was bursting my chest when I got an answer out to him. 

"Oh, man!" I shouted, "come up! There's me here--and there's murder!"

I heard him exclaim in a dismayed and surprised fashion, and mutter somewords to somebody that was evidently with him, and then there was heavytramping below, and presently Chisholm's face appeared round the corner;and as he held his bull's-eye before him, its light fell full on Hollins, and he jumped back a step or two. 

"Mercy on us!" he let out. "What's all this? The man's lying dead!"

"Dead enough, Chisholm!" said I, gradually getting the better of myfright. "And murdered, too! But who murdered him, God knows--I don't! Hetrapped me in here, not ten minutes ago, and had me at the end of arevolver, and we came to terms, and he left me--and he was no sooner downthe stairs here than I heard a bit of a scuffle, and him fall and groan, and I ran out to find--that! And somebody was off and away--have you seennobody outside there?"

"You can't see an inch before your eyes--the night's that black, " heanswered, bending over the dead man. "We've only just come--round fromthe house. But whatever were you doing here, yourself?"

"I came to see if I could find any trace of Miss Dunlop in this oldpart, " I answered, "and he told me--just before this happened--she's inthe tower above, and safe. And I'll go up there now, Chisholm; for ifshe's heard aught of all this--"

There was another policeman with him, and they stepped past the body andfollowed me into the little room and looked round curiously. I left themwhispering, and opened the door that Hollins had pointed out. There was astair there, as he had said, set deep in the thick wall, and I went along way up it before I came to another door, in which there was a keyset in the lock. And in a moment I had it turned, and there was Maisie, and I had her in my arms and was flooding her with questions and holdingthe light to her face to see if she was safe, all at once. 

"You've come to no harm?--you're all right?--you've not been frightenedout of your senses?--how did it all come about?" I rapped out at her. "Oh, Maisie, I've been seeking for you all day long, and--"

And then, being utterly overwrought, I was giving out, and I suddenlyfelt a queer giddiness coming over me; and if it had not been for her, Ishould have fallen and maybe fainted, and she saw it, and got me to acouch from which she had started when I turned the key, and was holding aglass of water to my lips that she snatched up from a table, andencouraging me, who should have been consoling her--all within theminute of my setting eyes on her, and me so weak, as it seemed, that Icould only cling on to her hand, making sure that I had really got her. 

"There, there, it's all right, Hugh!" she murmured, patting my arm as ifI had been some child that had just started awake from a bad dream. "There's no harm come to me at all, barring the weary waiting in thisblack hole of a place!--I've had food and drink and a light, as yousee--they promised me I should have no harm when they locked me in. Butoh, it's seemed like it was ages since then!"

"They? Who?" I demanded. "Who locked you in?"

"Sir Gilbert and that butler of his--Hollins, " she answered. "I took theshort cut through the grounds here last night, and I ran upon the two ofthem at the corner of the ruins, and they stopped me, and wouldn't let mego, and locked me up here, promising I'd be let out later on. "

"Sir Gilbert!" I exclaimed. "You're sure it was Sir Gilbert?"

"Of course I'm sure!" she replied. "Who else? And I made out they wereafraid of my letting out that I'd seen them--it was Sir Gilbert himselfsaid they could run no risks. "

"You've seen him since?" I asked. "He's been in here?"

"No--not since last night, " she answered. "And Hollins not since thismorning when he brought me some food--I've not wanted for that, " she wenton, with a laugh, pointing to things that had been set on the table. "And he said, then, that about midnight, tonight, I'd hear the keyturned, and after that I was free to go, but I'd have to make my way homeon foot, for he wasn't wanting me to be in Berwick again too soon. "

"Aye!" I said, shaking my head. "I'm beginning to see through some of it!But, Maisie, you'll be a good girl, and just do what I tell you?--andthat's to stay where you are until I fetch you down. For there's moredreadfulness below--where Sir Gilbert may be, Heaven knows, but Hollinsis lying murdered on the stair; and if I didn't see him murdered, I sawhim take his last breath!"

She, too, shook a bit at that, and she gripped me tighter. 

"You're not by yourself, Hugh?" she asked anxiously. "You're in nodanger?"

But just then Chisholm called up the stair of the turret, asking was MissDunlop safe, and I bade Maisie speak to him. 

"That's good news!" said he. "But will you tell Mr. Hugh to come down tous?--and you'd best stop where you are yourself, Miss Dunlop--there's novery pleasant sight down this way. Have you no idea at all who did this?"he asked, as I went down to him. "You were with him?"

"Man alive, I've no more idea than you have!" I exclaimed. "He was makingoff somewhere in yon car that's below--he threatened me with the loss ofmy life if I didn't agree to let him get away in peace, and he was goingdown the stairs to the car when it happened. But I'll tell you this:Miss Dunlop says Sir Gilbert was here last night!--and it was he andHollins imprisoned her above there--frightened she'd let out on them ifshe got away. "

"Then the Glasgow tale was all lies?" he exclaimed. "It came fromthis man, too, that's lying dead--it's been a put-up thing, d'yethink, Mr. Hugh?"

"It's all part of a put-up thing, Chisholm, " said I. "Hadn't we betterget the man in here, and see what's on him? And what made you come hereyourselves?--and are there any more of you about?"

"We came asking some information at the house, " he answered, "and we werepassing round here, under the wall, on our way to the road, when we heardthat car throbbing, and then saw your bit of a light. And that's a goodidea of yours, and we'll bring him into this place and see if there'saught to give us a clue. Slip down, " he went on, turning to the otherman, "and bring the headlights off the car, so that we can see what we'redoing. Do you think this is some of Sir Gilbert's work, Mr. Hugh?" hewhispered when we were alone. "If he was about here, and this Hollins wasin some of his secrets--?"

"Oh, don't ask me!" I exclaimed. "It seems like there was nothing butmurder on every hand of us! And whoever did this can't be far away--onlythe night's that black, and there's so many holes and corners hereaboutsthat it would be like searching a rabbit-warren--you'll have to get helpfrom the town. "

"Aye, to be sure!" he agreed. "But we'll take a view of thingsourselves, first. There may be effects on him that'll suggestsomething. "

We carried the body into the room when the policeman came up with thelamps from the car, and stretched it out on the table at which Hollinsand I had sat not so long before; though that time, indeed, now seemed tome to belong to some other life! And Chisholm made a hasty examination ofwhat there was in the man's pockets, and there was little that had anysignificance, except that in a purse which he carried in an inner pocketof his waistcoat there was a considerable sum of money in notes and gold. 

The other policeman, who held one of the lamps over the table whileChisholm was making this search, waited silently until it was over, andthen he nodded his head at the stair. 

"There's some boxes, or cases, down in yon car, " he remarked. "Allfastened up and labelled--it might be worth while to take a look intothem, sergeant. What's more, there's tools lying in the car that lookslike they'd been used to fasten them up. "

"We'll have them up here, then, " said Chisholm. "Stop you here, Mr. Hugh, while we fetch them--and don't let your young lady come down while that'slying here. You might cover him up, " he went on, with a significant nod. "It's an ill sight for even a man's eyes, that!"

There were some old, moth-eaten hangings about the walls here and there, and I took one down and laid it over Hollins, wondering while I did thisoffice for him what strange secret it was that he had carried away intodeath, and why that queer and puzzled expression had crossed his face indeath's very moment. And that done, I ran up to Maisie again, bidding herbe patient awhile, and we talked quietly a bit until Chisholm called medown to look at the boxes. There were four of them--stout, new-madewooden cases, clamped with iron at the corners, and securely screweddown; and when the policemen invited me to feel the weight, I was put inmind, in a lesser degree, of Gilverthwaite's oak-chest. 

"What do you think's like to be in there, now, Mr. Hugh?" asked Chisholm. "Do you know what I think? There's various heavy metals in theworld--aye, and isn't gold one of the heaviest?--it'll not be lead that'sin here! And look you at that!"

He pointed to some neatly addressed labels tacked strongly to eachlid--the writing done in firm, bold, print-like characters:

_John Harrison, passenger, by S. S. Aerolite. Newcastle to Hamburg_. 

I was looking from one label to the other and finding them all alike, when we heard voices at the foot of the stair, and from out of them cameSuperintendent Murray's, demanding loudly who was above. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

GOLD

There was quite a company of men came up the stair with Murray, crowding, all of them, into the room, with eyes full of astonishment at what theysaw: Mr. Lindsey and Mr. Gavin Smeaton, and a policeman or two, and--whatwas of more interest to me--a couple of strangers. But looking at thesemore closely, I saw that I had seen one of them before--an elderly man, whom I recognized as having been present in court when Carter was broughtup before the magistrates; a quiet, noticing sort of man whom Iremembered as appearing to take great and intelligent interest in theproceedings. And he and the other man now with him seemed to take just askeen an interest in what Chisholm and I had to tell; but while Murray wasfull of questions to both of us, they asked none. Only--during thatquestioning--the man whom I had never seen before quietly lifted thehanging which I had spread over Hollins's dead body, and took a searchinglook at his face. 

Mr. Lindsey drew me aside and pointed at the elderly man whom Iremembered seeing in the police court. 

"You see yon gentleman?" he whispered. "That's a Mr. Elphinstone, that was formerly steward to old Sir Alexander Carstairs. He'sretired--a good many years, now, and lives the other side of Alnwick, in a place of his own. But this affair's fetched him into the lightagain--to some purpose!"

"I saw him in the court when Carter was before the bench, Mr. Lindsey, "I remarked. 

"Aye!--and I wish he'd told me that day what he could have told!"exclaimed Mr. Lindsey under his breath. "But he's a cautious, a verycautious man, and he preferred to work quietly, and it wasn't until verylate tonight that he came to Murray and sent for me--an hour, it was, after you'd gone home. The other man with him is a London detective. Man!there's nice revelations come out!--and pretty much on the lines I wassuspecting. We'd have been up here an hour ago if it hadn't been for yonstorm. And--but now that the storm's over, Hugh, we must get MaisieDunlop out of this; come up, now, and show me where she is--that first, and the rest after. "

We left the others still grouped around the dead man and the boxes whichhad been brought up from the car, and I took Mr. Lindsey up the stairs tothe room in the turret which had served Maisie for a prison all thatweary time. And after a word or two with her about her sore adventures, Mr. Lindsey told her she must be away, and he would get Murray to sendone of the policemen with her to see her safe home--I myself being stillwanted down below. But at that Maisie began to show signs of distinctdislike and disapproval. 

"I'll not go a yard, Mr. Lindsey, " she declared, "unless you'll give meyour word that you'll not let Hugh out of your sight again till all thisis settled and done with! Twice within this last few days the lad's beenwithin an inch of his life, and they say the third time pays for all--andhow do I know there mightn't be a third time in his case? And I'd ratherstay by him, and we'll take our chances together--"

"Now, now!" broke in Mr. Lindsey, patting her arm. "There's a goodhalf-dozen of us with him now, and we'll take good care no harm comes tohim or any of us; so be a good lass and get you home to Andrew--and tellhim all about it, for the worthy man's got a bee in his bonnet that we'vebeen in some way responsible for your absence, my girl. You're sure younever set eyes on Sir Gilbert again after he and Hollins stopped you?" heasked suddenly, as we went down the stair. "Nor heard his voice downhere--or anywhere?"

"I never saw him again, nor heard him, " answered Maisie. "And till Hughcame just now, I'd never seen Hollins himself since morning and--Oh!"

She had caught sight of the still figure stretched out in the lower room, and she shrank to me as we hurried her past it and down to the gatewaybelow. Thither Murray followed us, and after a bit more questioning heput her in a car in which he and some of the others had come up, and sentone of his men off with her; but before this Maisie pulled me away intothe darkness and gripped me tight by the arm. 

"You'll promise me, Hugh, before ever I go, that you'll not run yourselfinto any more dangers?" she asked earnestly. "We've been through enoughof that, and I'm just more than satisfied with it, and it's like as ifthere was something lurking about--"

She began to shiver as she looked into the black night about us--and itwas indeed, although in summer time, as black a night as ever I saw--andher hand got a tighter grip on mine. 

"How do you know yon bad man isn't still about?" she whispered. "It washe killed Hollins, of course!--and if he wanted to kill you yon time inthe yacht, he'll want again!"

"It's small chance he'll get, then, now!" I said. "There's no fear ofthat, Maisie--amongst all yon lot of men above. Away you go, now, and getto your bed, and as sure as sure I'll be home to eat my breakfast withyou. It's my opinion all this is at an end. "

"Not while yon man's alive!" she answered. "And I'd have far ratherstayed with you--till it's daylight, anyway. "

However, she let me put her into the car; and when I had charged thepoliceman who went with her not to take his eyes off her until she wassafe in Andrew Dunlop's house, they went off, and Mr. Lindsey and Iturned up the stair again. Murray had preceded us, and under hissuperintendence Chisholm was beginning to open the screwed-up boxes. Therest of us stood round while this job was going on, waiting in silence. It was no easy or quick job, for the screws had been fastened in after athoroughly workmanlike fashion, and when he got the first lid off we sawthat the boxes themselves had been evidently specially made for thispurpose. They were of some very strong, well-seasoned wood, and they werelined, first with zinc, and then with thick felt. And--as we were soonaware--they were filled to the brim with gold. There it lay--roll uponroll, all carefully packed--gold! It shone red and fiery in the light ofour lamps, and it seemed to me that in every gleam of it I saw devils'eyes, full of malice, and mockery, and murder. 

But there was one box, lighter than the rest, in which, instead of gold, we found the valuable things of which Hollins had told Mr. Lindsey andMr. Portlethorpe and myself when he came to us on his lying mission, onlythe previous midnight. There they all were--the presents that had beengiven to various of the Carstairs baronets by royal donors--carefullypacked and bestowed. And at sight of them, Mr. Lindsey lookedsignificantly at me, and then at Murray. 

"He was a wily and a clever man, this fellow that's lying behind us, " hemuttered. "He pulled our hair over our eyes to some purpose with his taleof Lady Carstairs and her bicycle--but I'm forgetting, " he broke off, anddrew me aside. "There's another thing come out since you left me andSmeaton tonight, " he whispered. "The police have found out something forthemselves--I'll give them that credit. That was all lies--lies, nothingbut lies!--that Hollins told us, --all done to throw us off the scent. Youremember the tale of the registered letter from Edinburgh?--the policefound out last evening from the post folks that there never was anyregistered letter. You remember Hollins said Lady Carstairs went off onher bicycle? The police have found out she never went off on anybicycle--she wasn't there to go off. She was away early that morning; shetook a train south from Beal station before breakfast--at least, a veiledwoman answering her description did, --and she's safe hidden in London, orelsewhere, by now, my lad!"

"But him--the man--Sir Gilbert, or whoever he is?" I whispered. "What ofhim, Mr. Lindsey?"

"Aye, just so!" he said. "I'm gradually piecing it together, as we go on. It would seem to me that he made his way to Edinburgh after getting ridof you, as he thought and hoped--probably got there the very nextmorning, through the help of yon fisherman at Largo, Robertson, who, ofcourse, told us and the police a pack of lies!--and when he'd got thelast of these securities from Paley, he worked back here, secretly, andwith the help of Hollins, and has no doubt kept quiet in this old toweruntil they could get away with that gold! Of course, Hollins has been inat all this--but now--who's killed Hollins? And where's the chiefparty--the other man?"

"What?" I exclaimed. "You don't think he killed Hollins, then?"

"I should be a fool if I did, my lad, " he answered. "Bethinkyourself!--when all was cut and dried for their getting off, do youthink he'd stick a knife in his confederate's throat? No!--I can seetheir plan, and it was a good one. Hollins would have run those casesdown to Newcastle in a couple of hours; there'd have been no suspicionabout them, and no questions which he couldn't answer--he'd have goneacross to Hamburg with them himself. As for the man we know as SirGilbert, you'll be hearing something presently from Mr. Elphinstoneyonder; but my impression is, as Maisie never saw or heard of him duringthe night and day, that he got away after his wife last night--and withthose securities on him!"

"Then--who killed Hollins?" I said in sheer amazement. "Are there othersin at all this?"

"You may well ask that, lad, " he responded, shaking his head. "Indeed, though we're nearing it, I think we're not quite at the end of the lane, and there'll be a queer turning or two in it, yet, before we get out. Buthere's Murray come to an end of the present business. "

Murray had finished his inspection of the cases and was helping Chisholmto replace the lids. He, Chisholm, and the detective were exchangingwhispered remarks over this job; Mr. Elphinstone and Mr. Gavin Smeatonwere talking together in low voices near the door. Presently Murrayturned to us. 

"We can do no more here, now, Mr. Lindsey, " he said, "and I'm going tolock this place up until daylight and leave a man in the gateway below, on guard. But as to the next step--you haven't the least idea in yourhead, Moneylaws, about Hollins's assailant?" he went on, turning to me. "You heard and saw--nothing?"

"I've told you what I heard, Mr. Murray, " I answered. "As to seeinganything, how could I? The thing happened on the stair there, and I wasin this corner unlocking the inner door. "

"It's as big a mystery as all the rest of it!" he muttered. "And it'sjust convincing me there's more behind all this than we think for. Andone thing's certain--we can't search these grounds or the neighbourhooduntil the light comes. But we can go round to the house. "

He marched us all out at that, and himself locked up the room, leavingthe dead man with the chests of gold; and having stationed a constable inthe gateway of the old tower, he led us off in a body to the habited partof the house. There were lights there in plenty, and a couple ofpolicemen at the door, and behind them a whole troop of servants in thehall, half dressed, and open-mouthed with fright and curiosity. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE DARK POOL

As I went into that house with the rest of them, I had two suddenimpressions. One was that here at my side, in the person of Mr. GavinSmeaton, was, in all probability, its real owner, the real holder of theancient title, who was coming to his lawful rights in this strangefashion. The other was of the contrast between my own coming at thatmoment and the visit which I had paid there, only a few eveningspreviously, when Hollins had regarded me with some disfavour and theusurper had been so friendly. Now Hollins was lying dead in the old ruin, and the other man was a fugitive--and where was he?

Murray had brought us there to do something towards settling that point, and he began his work at once by assembling every Jack and Jill in thehouse and, with the help of the London detective, subjecting them to asearching examination as to the recent doings of their master andmistress and the butler. But Mr. Lindsey motioned Mr. Elphinstone, andMr. Gavin Smeaton, and myself into a side-room and shut the door on us. 

"We can leave the police to do their own work, " he remarked, motioningus to be seated at a convenient table. "My impression is that they'llfind little out from the servants. And while that's afoot, I'd like tohave that promised story of yours, Mr. Elphinstone--I only got an idea ofit, you know, when you and Murray came to my house. And these two wouldlike to hear it--one of them, at any rate, is more interested in thisaffair than you'd think or than he knew of himself until recently. "

Now that we were in a properly lighted room, I took a more careful lookat the former steward of Hathercleugh. He was a well-preserved, shrewd-looking man of between sixty and seventy: quiet and observant, thesort of man that you could see would think a lot without saying much. Hesmiled a little as he put his hands together on the table and glanced atour expectant faces--it was just the smile of a man who knows what he istalking about. 

"Aye, well, Mr. Lindsey, " he responded, "maybe there's not so muchmystery in this affair as there seems to be once you've got at an idea. I'll tell you how I got at mine and what's come of it. Of course, you'llnot know, for I think you didn't come to Berwick yourself until after I'dleft the neighbourhood--but I was connected with the Hathercleugh estatefrom the time I was a lad until fifteen years ago, when I gave up thesteward's job and went to live on a bit of property of my own, nearAlnwick. Of course, I knew the two sons--Michael and Gilbert; and Iremember well enough when, owing to perpetual quarrelling with theirfather, he gave them both a good lot of money and they went theirseveral ways. And after that, neither ever came back that I heard of, nordid I ever come across either, except on one occasion--to which I'llrefer in due course. In time, as I've just said, I retired; in time, too, Sir Alexander died, and I heard that, Mr. Michael being dead in the WestIndies, Sir Gilbert had come into the title and estates. I did think, once or twice, of coming over to see him; but the older a man gets, thefonder he is of his own fireside--and I didn't come here, nor did I everhear much of him; he certainly made no attempt to see me. And so we cometo the beginning of what we'll call the present crisis. That beginningcame with the man who turned up in Berwick this spring. "

"You mean Gilverthwaite?" asked Mr. Lindsey. 

"Aye--but I didn't know him by that name!" assented Mr. Elphinstone, witha sly smile. "I didn't know him by any name. What I know is this. It musthave been about a week--certainly not more--before Gilverthwaite's deaththat he--I'm sure of his identity, because of his description--called onme at my house, and with a good deal of hinting and such-like told methat he was a private inquiry agent, and could I tell him something aboutthe late Michael Carstairs?--and that, it turned out, was: Did I know ifMichael was married before he left England, and if so, where, and towhom? Of course, I knew nothing about it, and as the man wouldn't give methe least information I packed him off pretty sharply. And the next thingI heard was of the murder of John Phillips. I didn't connect that withthe visit of the mysterious man at first; but of course I read theaccount of the inquest, and Mr. Ridley's evidence, and then I began tosee there was some strange business going on, though I couldn't evenguess at what it could be. And I did nothing, and said nothing--thereseemed nothing, then, that I could do or say, though I meant to comeforward later--until I saw the affair of Crone in the newspapers, and Iknew then that there was more in the matter than was on the surface. So, when I learnt that a man named Carter had been arrested on the charge ofmurdering Crone, I came to Berwick, and went to the court to hear whatwas said when Carter was put before the magistrates. I got a quiet seatin the court--and maybe you didn't see me. "

"I did!" I exclaimed. "I remember you perfectly, Mr. Elphinstone. "

"Aye!" he said with an amused smile. "You're the lad that's had hisfinger in the pie pretty deep--you're well out of it, my man! Well--thereI was, and a man sitting by me that knew everybody, and before ever thecase was called this man pointed out Sir Gilbert Carstairs coming in andbeing given a seat on the bench. And I knew that there was a fine to-do, and perhaps nobody but myself knowing of it, for the man pointed out tome was no Sir Gilbert Carstairs, nor any Carstairs at all--not he! But--Iknew him!"

"You knew him!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "Man!--that's the first direct bitof real illumination we've had! And--who is he, then, Mr. Elphinstone?"

"Take your time!" answered Mr. Elphinstone. "We'll have to go back a bit:you'll put the police court out of your mind a while. It's about--Iforget rightly how long since, but it was just after I gave up thestewardship that I had occasion to go up to London on business of my own. And there, one morning, as I was sauntering down the lower end of RegentStreet, I met Gilbert Carstairs, whom I'd never seen since he left home. He'd his arm in mine in a minute, and he would have me go with him to hisrooms in Jermyn Street, close by--there was no denying him. I went, andfound his rooms full of trunks, and cases, and the like--he and a friendof his, he said, were just off on a sort of hunting-exploration trip tosome part of Central America; I don't know what they weren't going to do, but it was to be a big affair, and they were to come back loaded up withnatural-history specimens and to make a pile of money out of the venture, too. And he was telling me all about it in his eager, excitable way whenthe other man came in, and I was introduced to him. And, gentlemen, that's the man I saw--under the name of Sir Gilbert Carstairs--on thebench at Berwick only the other day! He's changed, of course--more than Ishould have thought he would have done in fifteen years, for that's aboutthe time since I saw him and Gilbert together there in JermynStreet, --but I knew him as soon as I clapped eyes on him, and whateverdoubt I had went as soon as I saw him lift his right hand to hismoustache, for there are two fingers missing on that hand--the middleones--and I remembered that fact about the man Gilbert Carstairs hadintroduced to me. I knew, I tell you, as I sat in that court, that thefellow there on the bench, listening, was an impostor!"

We were all bending forward across the table, listeningeagerly--and there was a question in all our thoughts, which Mr. Lindsey put into words. 

"The man's name?"

"It was given to me, in Jermyn Street that morning, as Meekin--Dr. Meekin, " answered Mr. Elphinstone. "Gilbert Carstairs, as you're aware, was a medical man himself--he'd qualified, anyway--and this was a friendof his. But that was all I gathered then--they were both up to the eyesin their preparations, for they were off for Southampton that night, and I left them to it--and, of course, never heard of them again. Butnow to come back to the police court the other day: I tell you, Iwas--purposely--in a quiet corner, and there I kept till the case wasover; but just when everybody was getting away, the man on the benchcaught sight of me--"

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, looking across at me. "Ah! that's anotherreason--that supplements the ice-ax one! Aye!--he caught sight of you, Mr. Elphinstone--"

"And, " continued Mr. Elphinstone, "I saw a queer, puzzled look come intohis face. He looked again--looked hard. I took no notice of his look, though I continued to watch him, and presently he turned away and wentout. But I knew he had recognized me as a man he had seen somewhere. Nowremember, when Gilbert Carstairs introduced me to this man, Gilbert didnot mention any connection of mine with Hathercleugh--he merely spokeof me as an old friend; so Meekin, when he came into these parts, wouldhave no idea of finding me here. But I saw he was afraid--badlyafraid--because of his recognition and doubt about me. And the nextquestion was--what was I to do? I'm not the man to do things in haste, and I could see this was a black, deep business, with maybe two murdersin it. I went off and got my lunch--and thought. At the end of it, ratherthan go to the police, I went to your office, Mr. Lindsey. And youroffice was locked up, and you were all away for the day. And then an ideastruck me: I have a relative--the man outside with Murray--who's ahigh-placed officer in the Criminal Investigation Department at NewScotland Yard--I would go to him. So--I went straight off to London bythe very next South express. Why? To see if he could trace anything aboutthis Meekin. "

"Aye!" nodded Mr. Lindsey admiringly. "You were in the right of it, there--that was a good notion. And--you did?"

"Not since the Jermyn Street affair, " answered Mr. Elphinstone. "Wetraced him in the medical register all right up to that point. His nameis Francis Meekin--he's various medical letters to it. He was in one ofthe London hospitals with Gilbert Carstairs--he shared those rooms inJermyn Street with Gilbert Carstairs. We found--easily--a man who'dbeen their valet, and who remembered their setting off on the huntingexpedition. They never came back--to Jermyn Street, anyway. Nothing wasever heard or seen of them in their old haunts about that quarter fromthat time. And when we'd found all that out, we came straight down, last evening, to the police--and that's all, Mr. Lindsey. And, ofcourse, the thing is plain to me--Gilbert probably died while in thisman's company; this man possessed himself of his letters and papers andso on; and in time, hearing how things were, and when the chance came, he presented himself to the family solicitors as Gilbert Carstairs. Could anything be plainer?"

"Nothing!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "It's a sure case--and simple when yousee it in the light of your knowledge; a case of common personation. ButI'm wondering what the connection between the Gilverthwaite and Phillipsaffair and this Meekin has been--if we could get at it?"

"Shall I give you my theory?" suggested Mr. Elphinstone. "Of course, I'veread all there's been in the newspapers, and Murray told me a lot lastnight before we came to you, and you mentioned Mr. Ridley'sdiscovery, --well, then, I've no doubt whatever that this young gentlemanis Michael Carstairs' son, and therefore the real owner of the title andestates! And I'll tell you how I explain the whole thing. MichaelCarstairs, as I remember him--and I saw plenty of him as a lad and ayoung man--was what you'd call violently radical in his ideas. He was aqueer, eccentric, dour chap in some ways--kindly enough in others. He'd amost extraordinary objection to titles, for one thing; another, hethought that, given a chance, every man ought to make himself. Now, myopinion is that when he secretly married a girl who was much below him instation, he went off to America, intending to put his principles inpractice. He evidently wanted his son to owe nothing to his birth; andthough he certainly made ample and generous provision for him, and gavehim a fine start, he wanted him to make his own life and fortune. Thataccounts for Mr. Gavin Smeaton's bringing-up. But now as regards thesecret. Michael Carstairs was evidently a rolling stone who came upagainst some queer characters--Gilverthwaite was one, Phillips--whoeverhe may have been--another. It's very evident, from what I've heard fromyou, that the three men were associates at one time. And it may be--it'sprobably the case--that in some moment of confidence, Michael let out hissecret to these two, and that when he was dead they decided to make moreinquiries into it--possibly to blackmail the man who had stepped in, andwhom they most likely believed to be the genuine Sir Gilbert Carstairs. Put it this way: once they'd found the documentary evidence they wanted, the particulars of Michael's marriage, and so on, what had they to do butgo to Sir Gilbert--as they thought him to be--and put it to him that, ifhe didn't square them to keep silence, they'd reveal the truth to hisnephew, whom, it's evident, they'd already got to know of as Mr. GavinSmeaton. But as regards the actual murder of Phillips--ah, that's amystery that, in my opinion, is not like to be solved! The probability isthat a meeting had been arranged with Sir Gilbert--which means, ofcourse, Meekin--that night, and that Phillips was killed by him. As toCrone--it's my opinion that Crone's murder came out of Crone's own greedand foolishness; he probably caught Meekin unawares, told what he knew, and paid the penalty. "

"There's another possible theory about the Phillips murder, " remarked Mr. Gavin Smeaton. "According to what you know, Mr. Elphinstone, this Meekinis a man who has travelled much abroad--so had Phillips. How do we knowthat when Meekin and Phillips met that night, Meekin wasn't recognized byPhillips as Meekin--and that Meekin accordingly had a double incentive tokill him?"

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "Capital theory!--and probably the rightone. But, " he continued, rising and making for the door, "all thetheories in the world won't help us to lay hands on Meekin, and I'm goingto see if Murray has made out anything from his search and hisquestioning. "

Murray had made out nothing. There was nothing whatever in the privaterooms of the supposed Sir Gilbert Carstairs and his wife to suggest anyclue to their whereabouts: the servants could tell nothing of theirmovements beyond what the police already knew. Sir Gilbert had never beenseen by any of them since the morning on which he went into Berwick tohear the case against Carter: Lady Carstairs had not been seen since herdeparture from the house secretly, two mornings later. Not one of all themany servants, men or women, could tell anything of their master ormistress, nor of any suspicious doings on the part of Hollins during thepast two days, except that he had been away from the house a good deal. Whatever share the butler had taken in these recent events, he had playedhis part skilfully. 

So--as it seemed--there was nothing for it but to look further away, theimpression of the police being that Meekin had escaped in one directionand his wife in another, and that it had been their plan that Hollinsshould foregather with them somewhere on the Continent; and presently weall left Hathercleugh House to go back to Berwick. As we crossed thethreshold, Mr. Lindsey turned to Mr. Gavin Smeaton with a shrewd smile. 

"The next time you step across here, sir, it'll be as Sir GavinCarstairs!" he said. "And we'll hope that'll not long be delayed!"

"I'm afraid there's a good deal to do before you'll be seeing that, Mr. Lindsey, " answered the prospective owner. "We're not out of the wood yet, you know. "

We certainly were not out of the wood--so far as I was concerned, thoselast words might have been prophetic, as, a little later, I was inclinedto think Maisie's had been before she went off in the car. The rest ofthem, Mr. Lindsey and his group, Murray and his, had driven up fromBerwick in the first conveyances they could get at that time of night, and they now went off to where they had been waiting in a neighbouringshed. They wanted me to go with them--but I was anxious about my bicycle, a nearly new machine. I had stowed it away as securely as I could undersome thick undergrowth on the edge of the woods, but the downpour of rainhad been so heavy that I knew it must have soaked through the foliage, and that I should have a nice lot of rust to face, let alone a saturatedsaddle. So I went away across the park to where I had left it, and theothers drove off to Berwick--and so both Mr. Lindsey and myself broke oursolemn words to Maisie. For now I was alone--and I certainly did notanticipate more danger. 

But not only danger, but the very threatening of death was on me as Iwent my way. We had stayed some time in Hathercleugh House, and the dawnhad broken before we left. The morning came clear and bright after thestorm, and the newly-risen sun--it was just four o'clock, and he wasnicely above the horizon--was transforming the clustering raindrops onthe firs and pines into glistening diamonds as I plunged into the thickof the woods. I had no other thought at that moment but of getting homeand changing my clothes before going to Andrew Dunlop's to tell thenews--when, as I crossed a narrow cut in the undergrowth, I saw, somedistance away, a man's head slowly look out from the trees. I drew backon the instant, watching. Fortunately--or unfortunately--he was notlooking in my direction, and did not catch even a momentary glance of me, and when he twisted his neck in my direction I saw that he was the manwe had been talking of, and whom I now knew to be Dr. Meekin. And itflashed on me at once that he was hanging about for Hollins--allunconscious that Hollins was lying dead there in the old tower. 

So--it was not he who had driven that murderous knife intoHollins's throat!

I watched him--myself securely hidden. He came out of his shelter, crossed the cut, went through the belt of wood which I had just passed, and looked out across the park to the house--all this I saw by cautiouslyedging through the trees and bushes behind me. He was a good forty yardsaway from me at that time, but I could see the strained, anxiousexpression on his face. Things had gone wrong--Hollins and the car hadnot met him where he had expected them--and he was trying to find outwhat had happened. And once he made a movement as if he would skirt thecoppices and make for the tower, which lay right opposite, but with anopen space between it and us--and then he as suddenly drew back, andbegan to go away among the trees. 

I followed him, cautiously. I had always been a bit proud of what Icalled my woodcraft, having played much at Red Indians as a youngster, and I took care to walk lightly as I stalked him from one brake toanother. He went on and on--a long way, right away from Hathercleugh, andin the direction of where Till meets Tweed. And at last he was out of theHathercleugh grounds, and close to the Till, and in the end he took to athin belt of trees that ran down the side of the Till, close by the placewhere Crone's body had been found, and almost opposite the very spot, onthe other bank, where I had come across Phillips lying dead; and suddenlyI saw what he was after. There, right ahead, was an old boat, tied up tothe bank--he was making for it, intending doubtless to put himself acrossthe two rivers, to get the north bank of the Tweed, and so to make forsafety in other quarters. 

It was there that things went wrong. I was following cautiously, fromtree to tree, close to the river-bank, when my foot caught in a trail ofground bramble, and I went headlong into the brushwood. Before I was wellon my feet, he had turned and was running back at me, his face white withrage and alarm, and a revolver in his hand. And when he saw who it was, he had the revolver at the full length of his arm, covering me. 

"Go back!" he said, stopping and steadying himself. 

"No!" said I. 

"If you come a yard further, Moneylaws, I'll shoot you dead!" hedeclared. "I mean it! Go back!"

"I'm not coming a foot nearer, " I retorted, keeping where I was. "But I'mnot going back. And whenever you move forward, I'm following. I'm notlosing sight of you again, Mr. Meekin!"

He fairly started at that--and then he began looking on all sides of me, as if to find out if I was accompanied. And all of a sudden he plumpedme with a question. 

"Where is Hollins?" he asked. "I'll be bound you know!"

"Dead!" I answered him. "Dead, Mr. Meekin! As dead as Phillips, or asAbel Crone. And the police are after you--all round--and you'd betterfling that thing into the Till there and come with me. You'll not getaway from me as easily now as you did yon time in your yacht. "

It was then that he fired at me--from some twelve or fifteen yards'distance. And whether he meant to kill me, or only to cripple me, I don'tknow; but the bullet went through my left knee, at the lower edge of theknee-cap, and the next thing I knew I was sprawling on all-fours on theearth, and the next--and it was in the succeeding second, before even Ifelt a smart--I was staring up from that position to see the vengeancethat fell on my would-be murderer in the very instant of his attempt onme. For as he fired and I fell, a woman sprang out of the bushes at hisside, and a knife flashed, and then he too fell with a cry that wassomething between a groan and a scream--and I saw that his assailant wasthe Irishwoman Nance Maguire, and I knew at once who it was that hadkilled Hollins. 

But she had not killed Meekin. He rose like a badly wounded thing--halfrose, that is, as I have seen crippled animals rise, and he cried like abeast in a trap, fighting with his hands. And the woman struck againwith the knife--and again he sank back, and again he rose, and . . . Ishut my eyes, sick with horror, as she drove the knife into him for thethird time. 

But that was nothing to the horror to come. When I looked again, he wasstill writhing and crying, and fighting blindly for his life, and I criedout on her to leave him alone, for I saw that in a few minutes he wouldbe dead. I even made an effort to crawl to them, that I might drag heraway from him, but my knee gave at the movement and I fell backhalf-fainting. And taking no more notice of me than if I had been one ofthe stocks and stones close by, she suddenly gripped him, writhing as hewas, by the throat, and drawing him over the bank as easily as if he hadbeen a child in her grasp, she plunged knee-deep into the Till and heldhim down under the water until he was drowned. 

There was a most extraordinary horror came over me as I lay there, powerless to move, propped up on my elbow, watching. The purposefuldeliberation with which the woman finished her work; the dead silenceabout us, broken only by an occasional faint lapping of the river againstits bank; the knowledge that this was a deed of revenge--all these thingsproduced a mental state in me which was as near to the awful as ever Iapproached it. I could only lie and watch--fascinated. But it was over atlast, and she let the body go, and stood watching for a moment as itfloated into a dark pool beneath the alders; and then, shaking herselflike a dog, she came up the bank and looked at me, in silence. 

"That was--in revenge for Crone, " I managed to get out. 

"It was them killed Crone, " she answered in a queer dry voice. "Let thepollis find this one where they found Crone! You're not greatly hurtyourself--and there's somebody at hand. "

Then she suddenly turned and vanished amongst the trees, and, twistingmyself round in the direction to which she had pointed, I saw agamekeeper coming along. His gun was thrown carelessly in the crook ofhis arm, and he was whistling, gaily and unconcernedly. 

I have a perpetual memento of that morning in my somewhat crippled knee. And once, two years ago, when I was on business in a certain Englishtown, and in a quarter of it into which few but its own denizenspenetrate, I met for one moment, at a slum corner, a great raw-bonedIrishwoman who noticed my bit of a limp, and turned her eyes for aninstant to give me a sharp look that won as sharp an answer. And theremay have been mutual understanding and sympathy in the glance we thusexchanged--certainly, when it had passed between us, we continued on ourseparate ways, silent. 

THE END